#i forgot about eclipse existence again

[bilolli]

Here I am again with another AU idea.

I don't know if it's an already existing idea but what about the DCA in a nier:Automata AU?

It's could be in five different ways (lmao pun not intended): with Sun and Moon being androids and y/n being a bio-machine, the opposite way or with y/n being an operator at base station and guess what, the opposite way again. The fifth being y/n, an android, finding the original DCA between the ruins of an old human entertaining center after their POD capted an unknown signal.

Let me rant a little under the cut.

Setting A: With Sun and Moon being two different androids they would be compatible with the canon story and at some point they could become infected with the bio machines virus. They would work for the YorFaz/Fazha organisation (the name makes me giggle hahaha) and combat machines for the good of mankind on the moon (that's actually just a lie to cover the fact someone is exploiting bio machines for remnant or something like that). I don't know what kind of category they would be close to, but I would say they are a new kind of android who's an hybrid between the Battle and Scanner model (with Moon being more of a Scanner before the virus and going full berserk after it).

Y/n on the other end is just a machine that gained consciousness like Pascal (and maybe even a human-like body like Adam and Eve at some point) when they detached themselves from the hive mind because they idk, fell down somewhere or hard resetted after a fight. For that reason they won't be infected by the virus like Sun and Moon and can emote and be themselves.

The first time they meet Sun (1Su-Ones) and Moon (1M-Nem) almost eliminated y/n who was just laying on a small field of flowers hidden between the ruins of the desert away from every other machine. There is a chase and some dialogue between you and mostly Sun who wanted to study your reactions,meanwhile Moon is more closed off and ready for an ambush. You are the first machine they met with a consciousness.

They don't want to interact with you after your first encounter but you had captured their attention. They lie to themselves saying that's their Scanner nature acting up and making them curious about you. At the beginning that's true, but after some time they start to actually enjoy your company and try to come to see you in between missions.

And you are always in different places, making finding you their little exiting side quest as they search where you can possibly be and bringing you to new places.

Until one day they couldn't find you anymore, maybe?

Setting B: similar to A but a bit different. In this one y/n is a Scanner type YoRha android studying machines and ways to exploit their behaviours against them. Your targets are two special cases of goliath biped machines denominated DC-S87 (Sun) un and DC-M83 (Moon) living in the Amusement Park area.

At the beginning you saw them just as factory errors...they were differently shaped than the other bio-machines and acted strangely too They seemed more...intelligent, and connected to each other in some way.

The first time you made contact with them was to "save" them from another group of androids who was patrolling the area, explaining to your colleagues that they were the objects of your study and stopping them from eliminating the duo. This resulted in Sun and Moon being more aware of their surroundings and spotting you more often now that they knew they were being watched.

They tried (especially Moon) to scare you away by creating traps and attacking you but you always found it funny and pretty interesting, taking notes aloud. Until one day you were trapped somewhere (maybe lured by Simone) and they menaged to help you by hiding your signal and making you escape the park area.

You thought they were just mindless bio machine like the rest but you soon understood you were wrong.

Setting C: The most tragic ending ever if we follow the canon. Just imagine: android Sun and Moon and Operator y/n can freely hangout when they have time at the space station (they bring you souvenirs from the surface :D) and y/n helps the boys when they are on a mission.

They make you a promise: they would bring you with them to the surface when the war ended. But the day the virus broke out they saw you go crazy and being used to hurt them both mentally and physically. You managed to infect Moon (and after that Moon infected Sun) because they esitated. They had to watch you as you tried to fight the virus that's moving your body and as you begged for them to eliminate you. To save you, you didn'twant them to end up like you.. Y/n never had a chance to see the surface. And they remained alone, with just their slowly corrupting memories of you.

And their broken promise.

(But if you want a happy ending we could always ignore the canon story :D)

Setting D: Sun and Moon are both your operators. Or your PODS. If they are your operators it may be because you have to find an android who's disappeared (the android one of them is supposed to support), same thing if they are PODs, one of them is yours but the other is of someone else, or they are replacing your own. This setting allows space to pining and feelings of uncertainty from all ends. But it could get more complicated if you manage to find the actual android you are searching for, the one linked to them. And when the virus starts spreading (like in the previous setting) things would get ugly.

The alternative to this is you being their POD slowly gaining a conscience like in canon game.

Setting E: Again, you are an android (it doesn't matter what type) and you are on a mission to find the location of a new anomalous signal presumably from bio machines. You didn't expect to find two really old robots between the debris of an old human entertaining center, and with really advanced AI for the time they were built. After you found them the Commander ordered you to find out if they are actually harmless and to study them and integrate them to the resistance camp. This setting is more focalized on the boys waking up to what is basically a new world for them. It could be both platonic and romantic.

Wow did you really read all of this? Woah. 👏👏

You can go now, but if you have more ideas or wanna say something TELL ME PLEASE I NEED OPINIONS.

[rbb-travels-of-the-cube]

So, how long have you been friends with Moon, Sun? And how long has the ship coincidentally been plagued by that siren Blue Moon saw under it?

It is now the next day.

"We've been friends long enough with Moon to know they aren't doing anything suspicious."

"You've been friends with them Sunny boy! I ain't going to be friends with a siren!"

"Gerr. Look, sirens like to pick ships if they don't got a territory. It's not my fault this old racket of gears had one on his tail. Moon came on to the ship after I joined him. There is, no correlation!"

"Bah hoo! Ya barely know ta sea. Ya ain't got any good information about those seabeasts."

"I had my books at home! They told me well enough!"

"Dear God. Do you guys ever stop talking!"

Both Captain eclipse and sunny look towards the new voice. Blue Moon whining lightly attempting to look towards the noise. Still blindfolded.

The new person looks human. Although their skin tint and face looks strange. It was a split lip and off looking eyes. Their skin color looks faded. A bunch of netting is caught up in their hair. There arms are bound tightly with wraps. Looking strangely bumpy. They wear a baggy shirt. Their pants very much the same. Thick boots on their feet. All of it looks worn. Lucky had been stranded on an island and swam onto the boat itself.

"Sorry Moon. We didn't mean to wake you. You this bucket of gears."

"Ay!"

"Yeah, no kidding. Loud mouth captain. Now can ya tell me what the hell that is."

Moon points vaguely at the Blue Moon. Blue Moon themselves straightening slightly. Captain eclipse grumbling and fiddling with their hat.

"That is our new crewmate. They're a land witch from another world. They're able to create wind so we can sail as we please."

"Really. How intriguing. They're massive. What's with the extra sail and bindings though. Looks like he's getting ready for a storm."

"They are apparently terrified of the water. Earlier they were scratching the mast to bits. The bindings in the blindfold help calm them."

"Hahahah! Ya aren't built for sea are ya? We're dropping them off at the next port right."

"That's the plan."

"Good. They look like trouble anyways."

[sepublic]

Adding to the possibility of Eda’s Requiem being the last “natural” TOH episode written where the writers didn’t have to worry about the shortening, where it was the intended pace and flow… It makes me think because in Hunting Palismen, we get our first proper glimpse at the coven heads, all nine! And then in the very next episode we see them again, this time without their cloaks, and are introduced to three.

I understand that with the shortening, the writers had to prioritize wrapping up pre-existing characters (with the Collector introduced as a second immortal friend for King when he outlives everyone else). And they tried to fit in Terra and Adrian where they could!

But man, if the writers didn’t have to worry… Makes me wonder if the next episode after Eda’s Requiem, if it wasn’t Knock, Knock, Knockin’ on Hooty’s Door, would’ve introduced another coven head; Maybe another three, per the previous episode, and the episode after that, the final three! Or at least two, one. Subsequent episodes having some coven head debut until that’s all nine.

I do speculate that Vitimir was slated next, given his presence alongside Terra and Adrian and nobody else; And not to get into conspiracy territory, but when asked about dropped coven head plot lines, Dana was able to remember Hettie Cutburn’s name, but not Osran’s, even if she talked about both. But she did name drop Vitimir even if she had nothing else to say. Which makes me believe he and Hettie were the most recent ones in Dana’s mind, due to being planned next!

After that is Osran and/or Mason; The storyboards for Any Sport in a Storm actually show Mason as one of the Penstagram accounts that Darius is scrolling through, showing off his grandkids! Seems like setup for Mason to make a proper debut with his family as a plot point. Makes me wonder if ASIAS and a few other episodes were also planned prior to the news, but had to be reshuffled and/or got left relatively intact.

(Did the writers also originally plan to include Mason before realizing they had no room, as they went through the process for 2B? Or was it just a cameo crumb they changed their mind on?)

After all, Clouds on the Horizon has storyboards depicting Amity with the portal key around her neck, despite that being lost long ago; Could just be a mistake by the storyboarder, I forgot which one. But what if that was going to follow up shortly after Eda’s Requiem, not Eclipse Lake, and would’ve been where Amity lost the key?

Of course, this implies that Alador would’ve gotten his act together even sooner than canon, or that CotH was changed quite a bit with some select moments still remaining the same, but the context around them being different due to the shortening forcing storylines to be reorganized. It’s amazing the end product turned out quite comprehensible and pretty satisfying!

With the original S3 plans involving the protagonists, Abomination mechs, and a desert, this all makes me think of Kikimora with Roka and her home of Palm Stings. And with Osran as someone who knew her mother and got her a position because of it, maybe his debut episode would’ve been there instead? Or he’s introduced around the end of S2A, and comes back for Kikimora’s backstory.

And since Odalia provides Roka the Abomatron, that whole bit wouldn’t have been there in the original version of CotH, maybe… Since Kikimora is there to kidnap Luz, which leads to her confronting Belos and Kikimora helping stop the Day of Unity in revenge. Or maybe she would’ve delivered the key to Belos, not Hunter. Oh to interrogate one of the writers over all of these things…!

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twelve

Master List of Series

I just wanted to give a quick shout-out to @sunny-boy-06 . They've been someone whose name is always in my notifs. You've been a lurker on this account, but I see you! You always like every post I make, whether it's regarding this story or not, and I just want to let you know your support doesn't go unnoticed. Thank you. <3

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I hope y'all like this chapter. It's quite the eventful one. I apologize if it's information overload. If it is too much or you have any comments or questions, don't hesitate to ask! It always makes me smile having interactions with everyone. It's one of the reasons I love writing so much on platforms like these. 

Translation Guide: Lykemās: easy, be quiet. 

Chapter Warnings: Description of urination, Angsty girl with unresolved trauma, Violence, Sweet baby girl Aegon.

A cloaked figure stumbled through the alleyways of Kings Landing, bumping into townsfolk and mumbling as the stench of alcohol radiated off his body. Men and children alike turned their heads at the hunched man, their faces covered in disgust as they avoided him. Another poor drunkard from Flea Bottom, they thought, paying him no mind.

A woman, clearly a harlot by the bleached streak of dye in her hair, was speaking to a merchant, stroking vibrantly colored fabric in a suggestive way as the hobbled figure passed. A strand of white caught her eye, hearing the familiar ramblings in her ear. Quickly, she forgot her current mission, slinking away as she ran to her Mistress's home.

The crowned Prince Aegon wandered mindlessly on the merchant Streets of Kings Landing, searching for his next drink in all the wrong places. How low he had become these past few years, moaning and groaning about how unhappy he was and how unfair his life is. He had only wanted one thing in his existence, which was always out of reach.

Love.

Love from his mother, father, brother, sister, you-- from anyone he met.

Aegon did not know why he starved for it or went through the streets at night searching for love. Perhaps during his conception, the Gods decided he would never know what it felt like for someone to stare at him with stars in their eyes, kissing his woes away as they whispered those three words.

"I love you..."

But perhaps not. The most likely reason Aegon never experienced that warm feeling from someone was most evident at this very moment as he felt liquid pool below his stomach.

"Fuck," he mumbled, turning down a corner with far fewer people as he unlaced his soiled trousers between a cluster of wooden crates and barrels.

He could hear those who regrettably crossed his stream shouting in disgust as his piss covered their shoes. How lucky, Aegon justified, they have royal piss on their clothes, not just some common one.

Suddenly, the bright autumn sun disappeared, eclipsing the surrounding area in darkness. Aegon quickly looked up with his eyes squinted and mouth agape, stuffing himself back into his pants. In a flash, the sun was back again, the outline of what could only be a tail soaring above him and out of view.

"Aemond," he snorted, "arrogant prick."

His brother must have taken Vhagar out for a morning stroll. He ignored it, accustomed to his brother's theatrics. Aemond had the largest dragon the world had ever seen. Aegon would've boasted too.

The elder Prince sniffled as if dismissing the thought as he walked into nowhere. If he traveled long enough; eventually, the sweet nectar of Arbor Red would appear in his hands. He would find that taste, no matter that he was actually passed out in the same spot for the past two sun positions.

***

Common folk in the town's square stared at you in awe as you descended the rope ladder down Cannibal's enormous back. You were sure they had never seen a dragon so close before, your Targaryen brethren keeping the beasts deep inside Rhaenys's hill and only letting them soar the skies.

One person, a young boy, stepped closer to your dragon, his curious nature getting the best of him as Cannibal snapped his jaws with a snarl. The boy stumbled backward as Cannibal recoiled, separating you and the townsfolk with his enormous body.

The formerly wild dragon still held the same spirit as before, unwelcoming to the presence of so many people. He could not be around any of your family's dragons, sticking to his den on the eastern side of Dragonmont. After several months of you and Cannibal's partnership, Luke had convinced you to take your dragons out for riding. The Keepers warned against it, but you did it anyways, and the young Arrax nearly paid his life for it when Cannibal lunged, his teeth flaring at the poor juvenile.

"Lykemās, Cannibal," you soothed, stroking your hand along his large snout, his obsidian scales reflecting the midday sun. He took a deep breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring as he released you from the protective embrace.

The young boy stood frozen in place, watching your mighty dragon with wonder in his eyes. That would have been you standing there if not for those fateful days in the past, mesmerized by the shiny black skin of Cannibal. A half-hearted smile rose onto your face at the memories, painful and bittersweet.

"Ten Golden Dragons should be enough for you to buy my companion your protection and some pork loins, yes?" you asked the boy absentmindedly as you searched your purse for some coins.

"Ye-yes, ma'am," the child nodded, his voice shaky.

"Good," you acknowledged, handing him the money, and you turned back to your dragon. "I shant be long boy. Be good now, Cannibal. This kind ser right here has promised to watch after you." Cannibal moved his head, and you couldn't help but feel he was mocking you.

Yes, your sweet, temperamental cannibalistic dragon did not need protection, but it was not for his safety but more for the dozens of ordinary folk beginning to crowd around him.

"Do not let people get so close to him. I cannot be sure that he would not eat a houseful of them in one bite," you whispered to the child, surveying the onlookers. He nodded enthusiastically at your words, taking the coins as he stepped closer to Cannibal as any curious child would. "Oh, and," you paused, remembering another critical piece of information, "do not pet him. The last time someone attempted that, they got their arm ripped out."

You offered him a small smile as he quickly backed up, fear clouding his puggish face.

You cleared your throat, adjusting your wrinkled riding clothes as you went to Flea Bottom, your home.

***

Even in the cooler autumn breeze, it smelled like curdled milk and feces. Though your nose scrunched in disgust, everything brought a nostalgic feeling to your heart. You had remembered the rushed layout of the place, watching the residents walk up their chipped sandstone staircases to their houses, clothes in mere tatters. You remembered running through these same alleyways as a child, dodging drunkards and Gold Cloaks with your pockets and satchels full of trinkets and fruits.

Everything was far less severe then. There were no courtly manners to worry about, no special dresses to wear at certain times, no obligation to train or speak a certain way, and no worries of succession.

It was simple, and you missed it, but in the same breath, you wouldn't change your life for anything.

How many people could say they tame the wildest dragon in the world? A dragon that sent others of its species cowering in fear. A dragon that ate other dragons for breakfast. Not even Aemond Targaryen could say that. Largest dragon be damned.

Ma's place was still the same. The only different thing was a carved wooden sign stating the name of her business, and the steps were more worn than you remembered—a victim of time, just like you.

Father had forbidden you to write to her, demeaning her a traitor of the crown for keeping you hidden, but Rhaenyra, ever the tender-hearted mother, could not bear to keep you from the only person in your old life. She had lost her mother just as you had, in the birthing bed. It was one of the reasons you had become close. She could not bear being a willing participant in your lack of communication with the woman who was the maternal figure in your early life. She would send the letters with her royal seal, her husband never knowing of your secret correspondence.

Your knock was barely audible on the door, fading into the background of the bustling streets of Flea Bottom. It flung open anyways, the person no doubt waiting for your arrival as you were crushed in a flurry of skirts and limbs. You could barely breathe as the person crushed you in their embrace, rocking you back and forth as they mumbled excitedly.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet little girl, how I've missed you," Madam squealed into your shoulder. You had nearly grown a full head taller than her in your time away and couldn't help but hug her back. "You're so strong," she said, releasing you and squeezing your biceps, "and tall! Dear Mother, you have grown! They must bee feeding you well! I should hope so," she chortled, "considering the taxes they're making us pay now." Ma shook her head, her hands on her hips as you stood awkwardly.

"Never mind that!" She swatted the subject of your family's taxation away with her hand, pulling you in by the wrist. "Come! Come sit, I've made your favorite, or at least I hope it is still your favorite," she added, a sad look glossing over her deep-set eyes.

"What is it, Ma?" You asked, hoping to reel her mind back into the present instead of wherever it went.

"Apple Muse," she chirped, her face bright once more. "Though, I am sure it is not nearly as good as the ones on Dragonstone. I recall how much you adored them in your letters."

You felt terrible at the evident insecurities Ma had, afraid that you had grown into a more refined palette. You had, but Apple Muse was something easy and quick they made in the kitchens with few ingredients. It was peasant food, and you liked it because it reminded you of the life you once had.

"I will adore yours just as well," you grinned at her. "It is the purpose and memories around the food for which I like it. I always think of you when I eat it."

"Wonderful! I wasn't sure when you would arrive, so I've had it simmering in the pot. It just needs a moment to cool, and then I can pour it." You nodded, your eyes drifting around the kitchen where you had many of your first meals.

The pot Ma was cooking in was still the same, a sturdy iron built for years of use, and the fireplace it sat inside was blackened with soot. The wood looked lighter from sun damage through the window. A few cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and you had to hold back the urge to knock them down with your sword.

"Ma? Could I," you paused, tucking your lower lip in to bite it as she turned. "Is it possible for me to see my old room? If it is not in use," you quickly added, realizing that much time had passed and she was still a businesswoman.

"Yes," she answered, wiping her palms on her brown apron and plucking the circle of keys from her hip. "I... I could not bear to let anyone use it, even after all of these years." You regarded her with a soft smile, picking out the key to your old bedroom as you hugged her.

You knew it was painful. The near-decade spent without the child you raised across the sea, missing so much of her life. It was agony for Madam at times, waiting for that measly scrap of parchment with a wax seal, her only communication with someone she regarded as her own. It still pained her greatly to think about when you were upset, seeking comfort in the arms of people who did not know you. Not like she did. Madam laid the foundation of you, but the Targaryens built upon it. She would despise them for eternity because of that, no matter how handsomely Aegon paid her girls.

The staircase you stomped up as a child creaked loudly, running your hand along the railing as more memories flashed across your eyes. You recalled Lyra chasing you down these stairs with a mouse between her fingers, squealing and giggling as she dangled it by its tail until Madam put her foot down. She had caught it scampering out of a room one day, no doubt the culprit for all the holes in the girls' shoes that had been plaguing them for weeks.

You begged Lyra not to kill the poor creature, something so small and innocent doing what it needed to survive. She compromised, having you follow her to a stable house, releasing the tiny thing into the haystacks. It would be free to roam and bother the farmers instead of the whores. The memory pained you now.

You reached your door, struggling to unlock the stiff handle. It was hidden around a corner at the end of the hall. Someone would have to know precisely where they went inside the brothel to find the room. You never fully understood why. Only when it was too late.

Finally, the knob jiggled, and you shoved once, twice, before it opened, stirring up the undamaged items in an explosion of dust. Your small cot was neatly made, unlike how you left it on that fateful day.

The few dresses you had as a child were still untouched, except for the few holes that littered the skirts and arms from moths. You stroked the fabric, rough and scratchy, unlike the smooth, tailored clothes you wear now.

You sat on your bed, the straw mattress unforgiving with your weight as it snapped and cracked. You knew it would not break. It could fit you and Aunt Lyra in the small space as she tickled and teased your writhing form. A sigh escaped your mouth, your shoulders deflating as you looked at the abandoned area, a hollow, empty feeling enveloping your chest.

What would your life have been like if Daemon had never found out you existed? Would you still be sleeping in this same room? In the same tiny bed, you rested in as a child, or would you be in a different one? In a place fit for a girl of your size. Would you be a working girl or training to one day take Ma's place as the owner of this establishment?

One thing you knew for sure was that Lyra would be alive. You half expected her head to pop through the doorway, her blue eyes bright with contagious excitement as she invited you on a new adventure. The feeling was fleeting, your grief attempting to trick you into a reality that would never be.

Madam called to you over the symphony of moans you had drowned out, letting you know the food was ready. You stood, walking silently over to your door, shutting it and locking the knob, leaving everything as it once was.

***

"Lookie what we haves here," a man with a thick northern accent said in the darkness, kicking Aegon out of his slumber.

The sun had long set, and the nightlife was in full swing. Where had the time gone? Aegon looked around perplexed, his body forcing him to stop at the pounding of his head.

"This one 'ill be easy," another man out of the group commented, "He's already passed out drunk."

"Oi! Had more ale than you can handle," he shouted into Aegon's face, the man's breath indicating the same applied to him.

The Northern Man crouched down to his level, grabbing him by his chin and slapping him on the cheek for good measure. The dingy cloak that had hidden his white hair fell, revealing his identity.

"Aye. He's a Targaryen," a third man that Aegon overlooked said, a short dagger glinting in his hand.

"So?" The Northern Man questioned, not seeing the problem with his victim's identity. "We're only gonna mug 'em and send 'em on his merry way."

"He's seen our faces," the second thug expressed worriedly.

Aegon, in fact, had not seen their faces. His eyes were blurry, and the alley was too dark for him to see, but you had seen, watching the interaction behind them, as silent as a mouse. It had surprised you how easily the Prince's location had fallen into your lap. One of Madam's girls had interrupted your meal, out of breath as she told Ma what she saw.

It had turned out, in your years away, Madam had created quite the network of spies rivaling that of the White Worm. Her reach traveled all through Westeros and even across the Narrow Sea. It should not have been a shock how much her hands extended, ever the entrepreneur.

The leader, you could only assume, waved his grimy hand in front of Aegon, and when he made no reaction, he gestured to his conspirators. They reluctantly followed his actions, picking poor helpless Aegon up as one delivered a blow to his gut. Both you and Aegon winced but couldn't help the smile that made its way onto your lips. You would let them have their fun. He deserved it, after all.

After a brutal punch to the Prince's nose, blood gushing down his chin, did you finally intervene.

You unsheathed your sword quietly, still not wanting your presence to be known, as you stepped behind the man with the dagger. He posed the most threat until your steel blade sliced his hand clean off his wrist.

The man screamed in agony, clutching his dismembered arm as blood spurted from his wound, soaking the weathered stone below. The other two turned in your direction, your riding cloak keeping your figure in the darkness. The crimson dots shining on your sword gave them an indication of where you might be, pausing for a moment as they thought of their actions.

Quickly and with shaking hands, both Aegon's attackers drew their knives, mere toothpicks compared to your weapon. You couldn't help the laugh that escaped as you saw them step closer to you, their metal sticks trembling in their grasp.

The more dim-witted of the two lunged forward, swiping his blade where he assumed your torso was, but missing by an arm's length as you swiftly parried, knocking his knife to the ground and kicking it behind you. He froze in place, his partner attempting to do the same tactic but getting closer as you dodged.

Still, with a smile, you moved out of reach, slinking behind the pair, the fabric of your cloak flapping with your movements. They came at you simultaneously, but your arms were faster, deeply cutting across the abdomen of one, jumping out of the other's path as his inebriated body smacked against a stone wall. You did not stifle your laugh this time, letting it vibrate your chest as he fell flat on his back, his head smacking the hard ground.

"That was easier than anticipated," you said aloud. The two men, still clinging to consciousness as their blood leaked from their bodies, stared at you wide-eyed, stunned to hear a woman's voice.

You ignored them, pushing your hood off and rushing to Aegon as you lifted him upright. Other than his bloodied nose and a cut to his cheek, he was fine, albeit still a bit hungover. You hadn't realized how worried you had become as you watched the men from earlier beat him, your hands shaking as you stroked his greasy hair away from his face.

"Aegon," you said softly, the name feeling foreign on your tongue. "Are you alright?" You knew the question was asinine, he was not, but the sound of your racing heart inside your ears made you simple.

He groaned softly, still not quite back into reality as he lazily pushed your hand away. "My Prince, it is me," you paused, wiping the blood from his upper lip with your cloak. "It is your cousin." You said your name, his brows raising and glazed violet eyes opening.

"Little one," he spoke, his voice hoarse. "You are here?"

"Yes. I am here," you nodded, putting his dirtied hands on the sides of your face, attempting to ground him into the moment. All past animosity had left your mind, focusing solely on his face, more squared than you remembered.

"I have missed you, little one," Aegon said, his words slurring together. "I dreamed this day would come when you-"

Aegon's words were lost in the night air as someone yanked your long braid, pulling you to the ground. The man you had cut in the stomach flung himself over top of you, slamming your shoulders into the weathered stone streets, wrapping his slick hands around your throat.

You were stunned, momentarily caught off guard as he squeezed tighter, vengeance in his beady eyes. You blinked rapidly, collecting your thoughts as blood pooled on your face and air leaving your body.

The memories of your training surfaced in your mind, searching for any weak point you could use to free yourself. Luckily, all these men were idiots as you realized he had left your arms free.

You took the dagger Daemon had gifted you off your belt, shoving it into the man's side repeatedly, his blood spurting onto your hand and riding clothes. His grip loosened, and you brought your knee up, pushing him to the ground in the same position he had you, only wholly subdued.

He had no chance to beg for his life as you stabbed him in the chest, over and over and over again, until nothing but his body's subconscious twitches controlled him.

Aegon smiled as he watched you rise from the man's now mutilated corpse, your shoulders heaving as a warm feeling gathered in his chest. He reached out to you like a child asking their parent to carry them, and you accepted, saying something he did not hear as that feeling numbed his senses.

This was love, he thought as he noticed his attacker's blood splattered on your soft cheeks. The kisses and the touches of one special someone were love, yes, but not real love-- not true love. True love was death. It was the fear of loss and showing yourself raw and bare, even with the fear of rejection hammering at your insides. It was protecting the kin of someone who had hurt you in immeasurable ways.

Aegon was in love with you, he realized at that moment, as you shifted his weight onto your shoulder, using the opportunity to steal a whiff of your scent—lavender and dragon with a hint of smoke from your years on Dragonstone. You must have loved him, too, for not just anyone would kill three people for a single man.

***

It was an eternity before the Red Keep came into view, trying to picture the maps you studied of the layout as you helped Aegon's limp body up the hills. You had half a mind to drag him by his arms, uncaring if his porcelain skin was scratched with pebbles. Sacks of sand and grain were nothing compared to a full-grown man, and at this point, the fire that raged within you as you attacked those men was dwindling.

Aegon's loose leg caught on a stray rock, causing you and him to fall onto the stone street, his face buried in your chest. You huffed, attempting to push his enervated body off you with no success.

"Where are we going, little one," he asked, his violet eyes shining in the light of the street torches.

"Do not call me that," you grimaced, trying to roll him off again. "We are going home."

"Dragonstone? I have to say, dearest, that this is going to be a long haul for both of us. Why do we not just get some rest here, at the nearest inn," he questioned, tilting his head to one of the many buildings.

"No, not my home, you imbecile. Yours. Why would you ever think we would be going to Dragonstone," you said exasperated, unwedging your arm out from under him.

"I do not want to go there," he whined, sticking his lip out. "Let us just sleep at an inn," Aegon offered again, "I seem to recall a much enjoyable night spent between the two of us in one of these establishments."

A sound of disgust came from your throat, finally gaining enough strength to push him off. "Your skin is covered and dirt, your hair greasy, and you reek of piss. You are repulsive, Aegon, and I would rather be tarred and feathered for all of Kings Landing to see rather than spend one more moment with you."

Aegon's face contorted in hurt, his pink lips pouting as he stared at you with glassy eyes. His hair covered the sides of his square face looking years younger than he was—a heartbroken little boy in a man's body.

In his moments of need, you had forgotten the years worth of anger and resentment toward him and his family. Crucial aspects of your training were wiped from your mind when you saw his battered form. Your thoughts were only filled with heart-wrenching desperation as the blood dripped from his nose. He had made you weak, and that was something you would never allow yourself to be ever again.

"B-but..." he stammered, chin quivering, "I thought?"

"You thought wrong. The acts we committed as children were just that. It means nothing, meant nothing to me." The words spat like venom from your tongue, cutting Aegon to the quick. His eyes danced around the many alleyways, the thought of fleeing evident on his face. "Now, we only have a little longer on foot, and then we will arrive at the gates."

Aegon's feet shuffled as if to get comfortable, but you knew better. Judging by the letter the Queen had sent you, he was a flighty man, and you expected as much. You grabbed his arm before he could think, staring at his bedraggled face.

"And if you think of fleeing, know that I am not like the Kingsguard or the Watchman. There is not a whore house, cellar, or pub where I cannot find you. It would do you well to remember that." You yanked Aegon along with you, dragging him uphill toward the Red Keep, everything much easier this time. You were sure veins were protruding from your neck as you spoke to him, the area sore from where the man had attacked you.

He didn't fight. All thoughts of running were stopped and replaced with melancholy and defeat as bumbled behind you. Where had his little girl gone? Who had stolen your sweet words and gentle gestures, you had shown him not too long ago?

Aegon told himself this was not you. You were frustrated and angry with him for being cheeky when you were not in the mood. Most likely tired from the long ride from Dragonstone. That was why you lashed out, he reassured, not because you meant what you said. Mayhaps you have not remembered the tender moments you shared many years ago. Time and words from your father and mother could have contorted your memories into what you believed they were now. 

But in the end, he knew you were his, and buried deep down, rooted in the aspects of your soul you refused to avow, he was yours.

***

During the hour of the owl, you finally reached the front gate of the Keep. Aegon had completely sobered, seeming refreshed and ripe to begin a few hours of debauchery, but you, on the other hand, were not accustomed to forgoing hours of sleep.

You heard armor clanking as several guards appeared over the red stone wall, hands on their swords and spears.

"It is the Prince," one shouted as a stampede of metal footsteps echoed in the night, the large wooden gates opening.

A handful of guards went to you and Aegon, pausing momentarily as they finally noticed you. The silver accents on your clothes glinted in the moonlight, your braids loose from the hours of scouring the streets and hauling a certain princeling.

"Woman. Move from the Prince at once," a knight commanded as you glared at Aegon. "Wench! I command thee, move ten paces away from His Grace, or you will be moved."

Aegon refused to help you. For once, during this entire night, he kept his moronic mouth shut. Revenge for how you spoke to him earlier, you supposed. You looked at him in astoundment, your lip curling incredulously as you looked at the men. Indeed, they recognized you. You were not someone who could exactly be forgotten, the white streak in your hair.

"Cease!" A voice from behind the knights shouted. The guards moved out of his way, clearing a path for the man in pristine white armor. "This is the daughter of His Grace, Prince Daemon Targaryen! Have you men so semblance of intelligence to recognize the kin of the crown?"

You had to hide your shock as Ser Arryk Cargyll stood between you and the group of guards. His brother followed closely behind. He had grown further into the position of a Kingsguard. His light brown hair, you had remembered loose at his shoulder, was now slicked on the sides of his head into a knot, his beard longer with a slight curl to the collection of whiskers over his lip.

"Come, Princess," he said, gesturing with his hand, "I thank you for returning Prince Aegon without harm to the Red Keep. We will escort him to his chambers. I am certain the King and Queen will be pleased with both of your arrivals."

Aegon eyed Ser Ayyrk suspiciously. To everyone, even you, his words appeared respectful, but Aegon knew of the compassion Arryk extended to you during a vulnerable moment, soiling his love with the kind words of a simple knight.

"There is no need, Ser Arryk. I will return him," you replied, grabbing Aegon harshly on his upper arm. "I am expected an audience with the Queen upon my arrival with her son. Will you please alert her to my presence?"

"Yes, My Lady," he nodded curtly, his forearm over his breastplate as he turned.

You exhaled in relief once his back was turned, releasing Aegon's bicep, and rested your hands on your knees, preparing for what was to come. 

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I was today years old when I realized I'd been writing Aegon's title wrong. Please, bear with me while I change everything that includes his name. Why is she so mean to him? :( Like our sweet baby boy did nothing wrong other than get Lyra and Sara killed. I hope she doesn't find out because judging how this first encounter went, I don't think she'll be very forgiving.

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[ikamigami]

About Sun's death flags

I think that people got that wrong.. I mean I've seen that people were saying (mostly on Discord) that Sun won't die.. Sun's death is a red herring.. etc.

But the thing is that I think that they forgot about some really important lil crucial detail..

Who said that villain will be the one to kill Sun? Or who even said that anyone else will kill Sun.. accident or not..

Many people either don't want to see or just simply ignore that one important detail..

I think that the one who will kill Sun is he himself.. or more likely he'll attempt to do that but fail.. and end up being either in a coma or severely damaged..

Show still is hinting that Sun is suicidal.. - most recent episode them playing russian rullete with a shotgun.. cause why Sun is the one who is playing and he seemed to be curious about what will happen if he'll die.. silly little guy *giggles*

Or another one - them reacting to animatics.. I'm talking about when Sun was in Ruin's dimension.. and like I said Sun didn't even care that Ruin's Monty could've kill him.. he didn't hacking care...

I bet that they chose that animatic because it had not only hallucinations mentioned but also one of the major signs that Sun is suicidal..

Also I don't believe that Sun is doing "oh so great".. like even Earth sees that he's hiding something but she doesn't know how to help him without causing more damage.. - "I care about you".. she says also that he and Moon can talk to her about their issues..

Like come on.. Is Earth really the only one person that sees that there's something "off" with Sun..

But like I said on Discord.. Earth can't be the only one who cares about Sun cause it's obvious that she doesn't know what to do..

I'm glad that she's pushing Moon to deepen his bond with Sun.. cause it doesn't seem that good tbh..

Like Moon is hanging out with Solar a lot.. it's not a bad thing.. but the way they seem to treat Sun isn't the best.. they both often times say that Sun is dumb to his face and think that Sun can't help with things.. like it's obvious that they treat him more like a "do this, bring that" way.. they don't seem to rely on him.. "he's dumb" so they don't need him for planning..

And I'm 100% sure Sun notices that..

Also like I said I think that Sun was really ready to kill himself.. but Eclipse showed up and he needs to take care of a threat cause he feels responsible for Eclipse's existence in the first place and don't want for his family to deal with problems he caused in the first place...

Also now that Moon has a good companionship in Solar's person and Earth and Lunar have each other.. they also have Monty and Foxy.. and they have on their side Castor and Pollux.. And Earth and Lunar can take care of the Daycare..

Sun realises that.. he isn't needed anymore.. and they would be better without him cause he causes so many problems.. if it wasn't for still existing threats hanging over them..

The fact that events seem to repeat - slightly differently but still.. and the fact that Sun remembers everything.. and knowing the show things will go downhill.. and Sun will 100% blame himself for this.. cause if he remembers but still wasn't able to help or stop bad things from happening once again then what does it say about him..

The answer is simple.. it would mean that Sun is a failure and that he truly is awful..

I think that the show is going in this direction.. it won't happen soon.. but I think that this is it...

[tar-thelien]

@ox24g it is here!!

Fic based on my new favorite drawing by @/ox24g here, of our two AUs, but as a crossover :) here

Summary:

Knitting Sauron meets Wolf Sauron, someone please come get Celebrimbor and Eönwë to supervise them!

Words: 785

“Can I pet that dog!” Celebrimbor heard a shrill voice cry out loud, and as quickly as he could, he ran around the corner of one of the many buildings in Aule’s halls from which the voice emanated - Aule didn’t keep dogs, did he? 

Why had he ever allowed Annatar to accompany him! Actually, he hadn’t; however, it appeared that he had not thoroughly examined his bags. Cursed Úmaia! 

“No,” a clear voice rang through the air, and Celebrimbor stopped abruptly, taking in the bizarre sight before him.

There, standing with an air of authority, was a Maia, Manwë’s herald to be more precise, holding - of all things - an orc? Not just any orc, mind you, but one with a shock of vibrant orange hair, adorned in a sweater??

Before them was Annatar, his behavior utterly carefree as he gnawed on a ball of red yarn, seemingly oblivious to the gravity of the situation, and the danger he had walked right into. It was as though he had discovered the greatest treasure of Eä, a whimsical delight that eclipsed any of the grand designs they had ever conjured, and decided it was worth more than his and Celebrimbor´s safety. Now that he thought it over, it wasn´t really that surprising. Annatar had a thing with obsessing in the most unhealthy way possible. Well, maybe a bit better than Heru, but that was not the point here!

As he pranced about, tail wagging enthusiastically, he rolled on the ground with delighted grunts and playful wuffs, eliciting laughter from the orc who kept trying to reach his arms out as if to pet the mass murdering Úmaia while the Maia held it back.

He sure hoped the Maia wasn´t here for his Annatar, after all the Valar had unofficially let him keep Annatar by not interfering! Right!? And it looked like the Maia was in charge of… the orc, and not the recapture of the weakest Úmaia that might just exist.

“I want to pet that dog!!” 

“No, no,” the Maia laughed at the orc as Celebrimbor walked closer, “look, the dog’s friend is here to pick him up, yeah?” 

Slowly, while keeping the Maia and the squealing orc in sight, Celebrimbor walked over to Annatar, who quickly stood up and walked a bit to the side with his yarn before continuing to roll around and gnaw at it with unrestrained glee. 

“Anna,” he whispered, as he walked closer and knelt beside the Úmaia, “we have to go home now—” 

“I want to pet your dog!” the orc exclaimed loudly, and Celebrimbor, startled by the outburst, quickly captured Annatar, who was now growling, hopefully playfully, in his arms as he abruptly stood up. 

“Erm… I-I—” was he seeing right, or was the orc holding two other yarn balls? 

“Is it your yarn…?” he finally dared to ask, and when the orc nodded, a beaming smile illuminating his rugged features, Celebrimbor hurriedly wrenched the red yarn from Annatar’s eager jaw as he slowly stepped closer to the smiling Maia - did he look nervous? No… But for what? 

“And here,” he offered the now very wet and somewhat disgusting yarn clump over to the orc, who took it with eager hands, his eyes sparkling with delight as he again asked if he could pet Annatar while reaching his hand out. 

“Erm… he bites…” Celebrimbor informed him, wrestling his sleeve out of Annatar’s mouth. It was important to note that Annatar never truly bit him to inflict harm; his playful nips were simply a testament to his exuberant spirit. After all, he always listened and obeyed when Celebrimbor told him to do something. However, when Atto, Elrond, and Finrod voiced their concerns, they often forgot that they had been the hostile ones to start, and Annatar was merely trying to protect himself if he felt like he couldn´t retreat. 

“I want to pet him,” the orc stated matter of factly, “what’s his name?” 

“Anna… what’s… what’s yours?” Celebrimbor asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he regarded the orc’s face. 

At the question, the orc looked up to the Maia, his face uncertain. 

“Urundil,” the Maia answered with a shrug, casting a somewhat apologetic glance in the orc’s direction, as if to make amends for… for something. 

“Ah… I see,” Celebrimbor replied, his voice softening as he held Annatar, still clinging to him, out for a quick head pat before the orc, to be rewarded with a joyful laugh, after the… after Urundil had touched Annatar´s soft fur.

Not a week after, a sweater, wolf sized, arrived at Haru’s manor, accompanied by a letter from Manwë’s herald, which spoke of a peculiar proposal about… a playdate? 

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Sweet Dreams--Part 17

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted. 

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert. Tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible!

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It happens every year. Calum knows this. But he’s still shocked when his phone shakes and the details stare back at him, New Year’s Eve. Eclipse. Doors are opening at 9PM. Your plus one is already accounted for, still in? Calum checks who the text is from again--though it’s always from Keegan, who always organized the New Year’s parties even in college. When Calum sees it is Keegan’s number, he is shocked that he somehow forgot he’s coming. But it’s less about the fact that the party slipped his awareness and more about what it means, more about who will be there. Keegan ensures to invite everyone from their college group, year after year. 

The last time he really spoke with Nora was at this year’s Summit in early May. A gathering that happens in spring as various national leaders and royalty meet to rub elbows but also to make work on foreign policies and deals. More deals and exchanges are made at the Summit than on policy floors. His interaction with Nora then had been pretty minimal. She was a panelist for one of the talks that focused on reproductive health policy and Calum, who’d been working with his mother on potential reform, went to that talk so that his mother could handle something else. Calum really shouldn’t even say that he talked to Nora then. He’d really only thanked her for her contributions and asked if she was doing okay. She was cordial, thanked Calum, and wished him well too. 

The interaction was all of five minutes if he had to time it. But prior to that, his contact with Nora is non-existent on the personal front. He hadn’t even gone to the new year’s party last December either. Calum opted, instead, to go with his parents to a party they’d been invited to--and though it wasn’t the rager he’d been accustomed to thanks to his years in college, it was still a nice time. But just like clock work, like every day has a noon, Keegan’s text reminds Calum yet again of the New Year’s Eve party, of the reality he’d been a part of for years. 

The shower stops and Calum looks up from his phone when the door opens. A small tuft of steam follows behind you as you step out of the threshold. Your hair holds a little bit of moisture, the weight heavy to your scalp from the water. You’ve acquired his Conway Studio’s t-shirt as yours. He’s not really sure when he lost custody of it, but every so often it pops back up in his laundry and he knows. You want him to wear it so it smells like him again so he does, he’ll throw it on after a shower when he’s changing into lounge wear and will keep the shirt for a couple weeks at least until he hands it back over to you for a pajama shirt. It’s a silent exchange now. 

The thoughts of Nora are fleeting, nearly as if the text message never came through as you move closer now to the bed. All Calum cares about is you. All he cares about is if your back still hurts like you mentioned earlier, or if you actually ate enough today on your breaks. He cares about how you cart around the relationship coupon book. He cares about so much more than his own measly anxiety. 

“Is there something on my face?” you ask in a tease. 

The smile in your voice breaks the internal trance and Calum takes in your smile. “A beautiful smile,” he quips. 

“Thanks, love. But seriously--is everything all good? Looks like you were thinking there for a second.”

“I got a text,” Calum answers. The anxiety is not nearly as fleeting as he’d hoped by your pressure. It’s a lame way to start the conversation, but it’s the truth. “A college friend of mine is throwing a New Year’s Eve party. It’s at Eclipse.”

“What time does it start?” 

“9. And I get it if you're working and you’re not interested because of that. We can skip.” The mattress gives as you settle onto the edge of it. 

“I didn’t say anything about that now, did I?”

“No, but I just want to be mindful.” He doesn’t want to overstep and knows how taxing the holiday season is, especially for those in retail and food service. 

“How long does this go for?”

“Usually ‘til about 2AM. That’s the hard cut off if I remember correctly. I don’t really ever stay that long, pretty much bail after the ball drops.” Calum usually leaves around 12:30. Not the first to leave but he’s absolutely not waiting until the last possible moment to leave out. 

“Are you okay with driving? Or are you looking to party pretty hard? I’m working that same day and probably can get back here around 10 or so.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind driving.” It might serve Calum better to stay sober than anything else. It does mean any embarrassment will be remembered but it could be his saving grace from making a fool of himself in the first place. 

“Thanks. I should be quick with a shower and then we can aim to be ready to go at 10:30?”

“Whenever you get ready, it's fine with me.” You don’t really take long to get ready as it is. He’s the one that hems and haws over the choices, but even that’s pretty minimal. “I’ll make sure I’m not the one holding us up,” Calum laughs. 

Your returned laughter is short before you speak again. “So, who’s all there? Like all your friends from college?”

There’s an emphasis to the question plus the distinct mark of you picking at the non existent fuzzies on his comforter that tips Calum off. Maybe he wasn’t the only one a bit more nervous about what such an event would mean. But there’s no reason for you to worry. “It’s…the whole group, yeah. But Luke, Michael, and Ash will be there too.” He hopes it softens the blow. Part of Calum wonders if he’s softening the blow for himself more than he trying to soften the blow for you. 

You nod and bring your gaze up. “I guess I’m worried more about you. How do you feel about that? Do you know if Nora’s going to be there?”

Her name doesn’t sting like Calum was expecting it might when you say it outloud. But it does settle on his chest heavier than he anticipated--much too preoccupied waiting for the sting, he’d forgotten about the crushing weight. The reality he’d been absorbed into at one point, to the point of marriage, with her. It’s not the kind of ache that feels raw, not the kind of ache that consumed Calum when the breakup first happened. It’s the kind of ache that comes with old and long sustained injuries. The kind of ache that only really returns when the weather changes, but for the most part with meticulous care stays hidden away. 

“I don’t know for certain. But she goes every year, so I know she’s most likely been invited.”

“And-and how does that make you feel? That’s my main question.” It’s a clarification. Not dismissive or angry, but very direct. He’s not to avoid the inquiry this time. 

Calum takes a moment to drop his gaze to his own comforter. “There’s a reason why I was dodging it, you know,” he starts. The laugh is devoid of any true humor even to his own ears. The mattress dips again and you settle onto your knees off to his side. The flat of your palm is soft and warm against his cheek, a gentle urge to bring his gaze back to yours. An instruction Calum does follow. Your gaze is warm, full of understanding too. 

“I know there is. But part of this relationship is that I ask those hard questions. And I’m going to be there too, no matter how hard it gets.”

Your gaze is steady to match the steady brush of your thumb over his cheek. It’s grounding--Calum knows just how long your thumb will rest at his jaw before it slides back up towards the apple of his cheek. It’s predictable. And that’s the thing about this party. He can’t predict how it’ll go. He can’t say for certain if it’ll go well or if it’ll go up in flames. “I feel like I should be over it. And in ways, I am. But I don’t know.” 

All the words are failing him. He’s in love with you. He wants to spend his life with you. But something as simple as a party has upended him. He’d never really talked with anyone about it. Occasionally, he asked his mother for advice and for her listening ear, but a lot of it was just time. He’d had so much time. But maybe it’s less of an open wound and more like a scar that acts up in the cold weather.

“Yeah? But it’s like you’re not sure about those other ways?” It’s poised to prompt for more. He can hear it in your voice what you’re asking him: what are the ways that he still aches? 

Calum hates these moments, when he knows what he’s feeling but can’t seem to get the words out of his mouth to match it. His inhale is slow with a matching paced exhale. “I banged up my knee pretty bad during a football game once. Didn’t tear anything but I was taped up for a while and sometimes I think about physical therapy for it. It aches like that knee sometimes, you know? I don’t think about Nora and don’t worry about that most of the time. I am over it. But it’s like, grief? Something about how the relationship ended that just feels better than a normal breakup.”

“Grief never fully shrinks,” you start. “The injury gets better because other ligaments and muscles get stronger around it. You get stronger around the grief. But it never really goes away.”

What Calum had so desperately to be a straight line was turning out to be more like a circle. A wind and bend, but never a snap--always curving around, coming back, a way through that was a loop. He’d never really worried about the knee until he started increasing his weights. He never really worried about Nora until it’s clear he’s got to be around her. And though he understands what you mean, Calum still wishes this grief would shrink. 

“Maybe you’re right,” he concedes. But maybe he wishes you weren’t. 

“Do you want to go to this party?” you ask. 

It’s the question Calum hoped you wouldn’t ask. Because he doesn’t think he wants to, but he doesn’t want to miss out. The silence settles. He can feel it heavy in his lap but you watch him watching you. A steady gaze as you hold his eyes. Your thumb a steady stroke over his cheek, etched into the ridges of your thumbprint Calum feels what is you want to say but have not uttered yet, you don’t have to go if you don’t want. 

But it feels foolish. It feels weak not to go. 

“I want to try,” Calum settles for. Because it’s still a weak answer. He can back out at any time. He can be a coward. But he’ll always be able to say he tried. 

“Why do you say it like you’re not certain, love?”

Because I’m not. “I think it’s all I have for right now.”

Your nod is measured, two bops before you press a kiss to his forehead. “We’ll take any and all attempts,” you whisper into his skin. 

Calum doesn’t want to be a coward. It would ultimately be a matter of time. He’d have to learn to deal--find a way to not let the grief and fear choke him. But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he prayed that such a time actually came. A selfish notion he knows, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting it. It could all be a matter of perspective. If he looked at it less like the thing that could break him, it might feel different. But the thoughts are a weight on his chest that not even your presence fully chases away. They settle, under the sheets, with the two of you and burrow in the gaps. In the spaces that you aren’t pressed up against him, Calum feels the heavy dread settling in. 

And the dread doesn’t go away. Even though Calum tells himself, he won’t chicken out. Even when he promises to himself that the worst of it can’t all be that bad, dread is a passenger in the remaining days until the party. When Calum goes for a drive, dread is there. When Calum fixes himself a snack, dread is hissing in the cold air of the fridge. When Calum washes his hair, dread is in the plops of the water into the basin. Dread is the unwanted guest that Calum can’t get rid of. And maybe it won’t ever go away. 

He feels the dread hovering over his shoulder as he zips up the black dress pants--they’re a straighter cut with more space in the ankle and shin, not as narrow as his usual attire making them easy to pair with his Docs for the evening. Dread breaths down his back and not even the spritz of his cologne deters it. You’re quick in the shower, as promised, and just as swift with getting dressed too. The red shirt is daring, especially considering you don’t button it up all the way. Nothing too revealing as only the two three buttons remain open and the winter is harsh, but it’s a nice pair for you to be in red in contrast to Calum’s all black attire. The party isn’t a funeral, even if it feels like one to Calum. 

“Hey, Calum,” you start softly. It’s a small shock for you to use his name so sternly, even if it is gentle. He blinks for a second, then two, and you are slow as you pull his hands down from smoothing out the t-shirt. “I’ve noticed you’ve been quiet lately. And not that this isn’t your usual demeanor but something does feel off to me.”

It’s the stench of dread. The heft of terror. It would make anyone quieter. “I want to go,” he states in return. You haven’t really asked the question. Yet, he knows what’s underneath your words. Because he does want to and still, that doesn’t mean he’s not scared of the outcome. 

“I understand that. You--” there’s a pause. Your hand squeezes around his and your exhale is soft. “If you ever get into a bad position and I’m not there beside you, find me, okay? Squeeze my elbow if I am there. Just let me know when it’s too much, yeah?”

It’s clear you want to say more, that more is probably loaded behind those words. But you don’t utter them. He’d bet his last dollar it’s along the lines of trying to encourage him that he doesn’t have to go if he doesn’t want to. But you don’t say it. All you do is ask two simple things. He can find you if you’re not there. He can squeeze your elbow if you are. So he nods. “Yeah, I can do that.”

You press a kiss to his cheek, smoothing his shirt down over his chest. Your fingers find his wrist and trace the bracelet you gifted him still there against his skin. It’s grounding, even if only briefly for Calum. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Because ready’s not the word. It’s not the phrase Calum would use, but he’s not backing down. 

“Still okay to drive?”

“Yeah, I need the excuse not to drink if I’m honest.” If he’s going to embarrass himself, he’d rather remember it. Rather not have anything to haze his judgment outside of fear. 

The drive is mostly silent. Though Calum does still keep a hand on your knee as he drives and though you absentmindedly trace shapes on his forearm, and though there is the radio on, there’s a distinct silence between the two of you. Dread’s moved to the backseat, but still it hovers and Calum prays to a god that he’s not the same believer he once was in that he makes it through the night. You don’t make any moves to break the silence. And Calum can’t think of anything he can say to break it either. 

Eclipse is bright--even though the night is thick and dark--there’s the loud hum of music from the doors as you and Calum approach. The strobing lights pour out into the street as people enter the club--a beacon in the middle of the night it feels. A buzz that echoes the thumping of Calum’s own heart rate in his ears. God, he should turn back around. He should tell you that he’s a fucking liar and he’s selfish and he doesn’t want to do this. No one would really blame him, but Calum thinks he’d blame himself. He’d torture himself over the failing. Even as much as he wishes it never came up, even as much as he wishes he’d lied about that text and this party, Calum knows the suffering would probably be much worse if he avoided it. 

He feels insane--torn between such a desire to avoid this reality and an overwhelming stubbornness that he wouldn’t back down now that he’d all but committed to it. For every exit you attempted to create, Calum ignored them. Perhaps, it’s self-flaggation. Maybe in all his years on earth Calum had yet to discover his own masochism until now. It’s pathetic, and stupid, and reckless, but Calum doesn’t stop himself. He doesn’t take the exit.

The bass rattles his teeth. Calum’s sure the speakers will lift off their risers at any given second with the way the music seems to only get louder the deeper and deeper he goes. Your hand is warm--your fingers thread through his. It’s not massively crowded in the club, thankfully. But Calum’s pretty sure that given another half an hour more people will be pouring in. While Calum’s group of friends from college wasn’t massive, Keegan has connections to several clubs--rugby, rowing, several student political organizations, clubs that Calum’s sure don’t even exist on the campus anymore. What might seem like a normal house party should anyone else take over easily turns into a 200 person ordeal with Keegan. 

At the bar, Calum keeps you close. “You want anything?” he asks, lips pressing almost right up against your ear. 

“Just a Sprite for right now,” you call out. 

“You know you can drink. I’ll be okay.”

“Maybe in a bit,” you shrug and Calum lets it go. You hadn’t proven yourself as a heavy drinker anyway and with the noncommittal answer, Calum takes it that you’re still toying with the options. When the bartender goes to him, he orders two Sprites. 

“Opening or closing?”

“Uh, opening. They’re with me so whatever they get just keep it on my tab,” Calum returns, pointing over to you. 

The bartender nods, eyes locking on you only for a couple beats after they return the card. “Sounds good. The two of you on the same tab, got it. So just Sprites for now?”

“Yeah,” Calum nods. 

“Got it.” The bartender turns for the glasses. 

“You made it!”

Calum turns to the sound of Michael’s voice, leaning in across the wooden bar. “Are you saying you worried about me?” Calum teases. He laughs with more humor than he actually feels but is swift to give Michael a hug in greeting. 

“Ah, glad to see you again,” Michael addresses you. The hug is quick. “I’m still fucking drooling over those cupcakes every time I think about them.”

“Hi, Michael. It’s a pretty easy recipe,” you offer at the start.

“Oh, I’m a shit baker. But I’d certainly help,” he laughs. “The rest of us are on the second level. The couches that overlook the dance floor if you want to join. Everyone’s up there.”

The three of you pause and Calum feels the heated stares directed at him from you and Michael. “Well, not everyone,” Michael corrects. “But our group is.”

Maybe Nora won’t show. Maybe in the club of this size they won’t cross paths. But the dread is still like lead in his gut at the prospect. It could all still happen. “Thanks. We’ll be up in a second. Have you seen Keegan?”

“Uh, it was maybe half an hour ago. On the dance floor. God only knows where he is now,” Michael answers. 

There’s a slight drift, where Michael’s gaze falls to the floor and then back to Calum and Calum wonders if that means. If it’s a warning of something more, Calum doesn’t really get the chance to ask it before a glass is handed over to him. The clear liquid fizzes and he knows it’s the soda. 

“Keegan’s floating right now. We’ll make sure we find him,” Michael adds on in the mindset of the distraction. “Let me get my drink and we’ll head up to the couches together.”

Calum agrees, but he can still feel it in his toes that he’s desperate to find somewhere safe. Surveying the dance floor is a little useless. It’s dark. A lot of people are paired up, swaying to the bass that rattles through the building. It feels nearly impossible to piece together who’s who until they’re mere inches from him. Safety may be a nearly impossible desire to achieve. 

The passing seconds are filled with the bile of anxiety and introductions. Even in the few minutes it takes for Michael to get his drink, multiple old football teammates approach him with slaps on the shoulder. They smile over at you as Calum introduces you. He’s sure you’re just barely keeping up with all the names. But they come and go--also looking for something to drink as well. But there’s still a little bit of panic as each one approaches that he’s going to come face to face with her. 

Maybe getting it over with early will save him. Maybe it’ll just sour the whole night. But neither possibility comes to fruition just yet. Michael turns back around, two drinks in hand and leads the way through the crowd up towards the stairs and then to the corner the boys have commandeered. You stay close, which is a saving grace, fingers threaded through Calum’s. But once the couches fill out and Ashton, Luke, and a couple others fill out your vision, you ease away just a hair. Your warmth still seeps into his arm, and side, but the press of your palm into his is gone. 

“Thought you might’ve been avoiding us,” Ashton teases as you and him embrace.

“Who says I wasn’t,” you laugh. It’s a sound Calum could place anywhere, even in the temple splitting thump of the club. Ashton’s laughter is sharp too in response. 

“You okay?” Luke asks in his greeting with Calum. The two are inches away, glasses in hand but neither one of them looks really sipped at all. 

“Sometimes I think I’m crazy,” Calum returns, part of it is humorous. But the other part is true. 

“We’re here for you. Just…just stick with us,” Luke suggests. And it’s viable. But Calum’s not sure if you’re going to want to dance at some point. Then there’s the countdown. But maybe Calum’s too caught up on what could happen that it’s taking away from what is happening right now. 

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. How was your Christmas?” It’s best to change the subject. Better to distract, since Calum’s already here and Ashton’s got you sucked into a conversation. 

“Pretty good, I went home and spent time with my family, which is always nice. We started looking at wedding venues, finally.”

Calum whistles. The proposal went smoothly, but not much progress had been made since the early spring about it. Not that Calum thought there needed to be any rush. The group was just coming off the tails of Michael’s wedding in January and Luke’s proposal in April. Maybe after the buzz of the holidays there was more space to consider the details now. 

“Still thinking about a wedding planner?” Calum asks. 

“We have a meeting with one in..two weeks? I’m not sold on it. She is though, so we’ll see how it goes.”

“Buddy, I love you, but you can barely plan a dinner party.” Luke asked for a more intimate setting to gather but scrambled to get a date and time until four days prior and still asked if people were okay with bringing a dish--a bit potluck style. It wasn’t a huge bother for Calum, but still rather a tight deadline in the grand scheme of things. It was made doubly sour because Luke had nearly a month to get it together. 

“It was one attempt. I need redemption, you know this!” Luke laughs. 

“Your proposal I think might be redemption enough. Get the wedding planner,” Calum states. 

Luke’s shrug is noncommittal as he goes for a sip of his drink. “My knee still hurts from time to time after that.”

“You’re the one that wanted to propose on the cliffside.”

“Because it would be romantic. And it was!” Luke defends. 

“The videos do it justice.” While Calum hadn’t been there for the actual event itself, he’d help get Luke’s partner around the city in the meantime to get her nails done and to grab lunch. Ashton and Michael helped ensure the house was set up and Luke was working with other friends to get the final touches on the cliff situation. The entire thing went smoothly from what Calum had been told. 

“You finally going to give yourself some new year's resolutions?” 

It’s not that Calum doesn't believe in resolutions. He doesn’t believe in the timing of them. Changes can be made any day, any time, any month of the year. The pressure to start new on exactly January first feels too trivial. It’s not realistic. “You already know the answer to that,” he laughs, watching the way Luke smiles well before he finishes the question. 

“Ah, c’mon I had to try and see if you’ve changed your mind at all about them. Looks like it’s still the same.”

“Yeah, it’s still the same,” Calum agrees. “What are yours? And I swear if you say gym again for the fifth year in a row I might have to disown you as a friend.”

Laughter shakes Luke’s shoulders. “Guess you gotta disown me then.”

“C’mon, man. You say that shit every year and in three months you give up.” It’s not that Luke doesn’t work out. He is good at getting four days in at the gym. But Luke’s always said he wanted to bulk up a little and every year he stays about the same. “Besides, I don’t think you need to bulk up at all. You look good.”

“Oi, easy for you to say. But I don’t know. Maybe I should just say I’m going to stay consistent. It’s helping the ol’ knees stay in good shape so it’s better than nothing.”

“You cannot talk about knees,” Calum laughs, halfway to taking a sip before he pauses. “Don’t do that to me.”

The conversation carries Calum away from the dread, away from the anxiety. He settles in with Luke, Michael, and Ashton, with you only a few steps away talking to Michael’s wife and Luke’s fiancée. It’s easy here. So fucking easy and he almost chastizes himself for being so worried. He’d worried about all that and it’s building to be for nothing. It’s just a party. One singular night in the grand scheme of the cosmos--hardly a drop in the bucket. He’d forget all the exact details of the party in a few months. This night wouldn’t matter in a few months, if he’s honest. He’d twisted himself sideways only for him and his boys to spend most of the night laughing into their glasses. 

Calum feels the press of you into his back, one of your hands curling around his elbow. Or at least, he assumes it’s you as he can’t quite see, but when your voice floats up through the music, he relaxes a bit more. “Want another soda?” you ask. 

“Uh, no. Do you want something though? I’ll go with you,” he offers. “Or go get it. Either way.”

“No, no, stay here. I don’t mind. You sure you don’t want anything? Water, maybe?”

Water does sound nice. It’s growing warm in the club. Though the area they’ve settled into isn’t packed like the dancefloor, the sheer amount of people in here is radiating heat upwards. “Water, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. I’ll get it for you, love.”

Calum nods, watching you carry down the steps. He watches until the red of your shirt is totally absorbed--sucked in by the red of the lights and the sheer distance of your body moving further and further from him. When he can’t see you anymore, Calum turns back to the group. It’s easy to forget as some old football teammates meander their way over and start regaling the tight games, the well fought victories. Calum’s sucked back into a time he remembers so fondly, that he’s not really paying attention to Michael, who seems to have a bit of a wide eyed stare. 

What is he on about? Calum thinks to himself and just as he goes to settle his full attention to Michael; he hears her. Her voice loud as it has to be to be caught over the music and just from his left, behind Joshua, Nora appears. Right behind her, Calum recognizes Sean--the son to a business mogul, known for advancements in pharmaceuticals. Sean’s father is the grandson to an old and well respected politician, a path Sean’s father didn’t take, but Sean definitely has as a lobbyist. 

“Got space for us to squeeze in?” 

The circle shuffles to accommodate them. Calum moves too, a couple steps back and one step closer to Ashton, but he watches the way Nora slips in and Sean steps in to her right. They look cozy. Calum shouldn’t assume and he shouldn’t be worried, but something in his gut lurches. Are they dating? Just as the question surfaces for him, it’s answered when Sean slips his arm over her shoulder. Nora reaches up and the stone dazzles in the light. It’s not the same cut Calum was looking at--a pear cut gem to the marquise that he’d been on the verge of purchasing. 

“Oh, that’s quite the ring,” Joshua quips. “Congratulations appear to be in order, yeah?”

Nora nods. “Yeah, he proposed on Christmas Eve. So if this is on the news circuit tomorrow, I’ll know who to start with,” she laughs. 

It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt. It stings--sharp, but fleeting. Granted it had been two years  and growing at this point. There was plenty of time. They had plenty of time to heal and move on. And he’s happy she has moved on. He’s glad neither one of them is stuck wallowing or bitter. But still, something about it still feels like a shock. 

“Congrats,” Calum returns. He wishes he hadn’t finished his drink so fast. He wishes he’d gone with you to get another. What should he do with his hands? He could still leave, dismiss himself with his empty cup, and find you. But is it really that bad? It’s just…a ring. Nora had every right to move on. He had. It’s just a ring, but it’s also so much more. His brain can’t quite place it in this moment, but he knows it is more than just a ring. Calum knows he should stop staring at the ring. It takes another minute to peel his gaze away, only for it to land on Nora’s face. Her hair is shorter--much shorter than she used to wear it. He doesn’t think it was this short at the Summit either. The black strands just brush the top of her shoulders, right near the base of her neck.

“Thanks.” Nora’s smile is tight and a little awkward. “Looks like things are good for you too, Calum?”

It sounds like it’s too much of a question. Like Nora’s somehow unsure or worried about Calum’s response. “They are,” he answers with a nod. Because it is the truth. Things are going well—with you, at his job.  Calum doesn’t miss Nora. Doesn’t want what they had back. It’s just the grief in all of its big and obnoxious ways. Calum is just staring his own grief in the face. He’s sure Nora’s doing the same. Like one might do after losing a parent and looking back at the old photographs. There’s the idea of what once was. 

“Good,” Nora smiles. This one feels a bit more lived in, relaxed in the way that only comes with relief. 

The seconds tick by are thick and slow. Calum can feel the eyes on him, how Luke, Michael and Ashton are locked into his every move. Calum wonders if this is how animals feel at the zoo with their handlers, watched in a way that reminds the animal that it is dangerous and wild, unpredictable. But Calum’s not a wild animal. He’s not going to spook. He can handle this. Even if it’s hard and awkward. It won’t kill him--not literally at least. “So, I guess we really shouldn’t make a competition of who got what for Christmas,” Calum starts. “Don’t know if any of us can top an engagement.”

It cuts the tension nicely. The group laughs and it’s a nice segway for Joshua to give the news of his own engagement--the day after Christmas--had been accepted too. The group gives another round of cheers and congratulations to the news.  “And here I am. Solo island,” Ashton laughs. 

“My wife keeps saying she knows someone,” Michael offers with a laugh. 

“No, I love your wife. She’s amazing. But I did go on a date with that girl she’s talking about and it went so poorly,” Ashton says. His laughter dissolves into the retelling of the disastrous date--spilling pasta sauce all over himself, getting the girl’s cut caught in the car door. They’re all minor snafu’s but it all accumulates to a degree that a second date was pretty unsalvageable. It earns the group’s sympathy.

Calum slips his arm over Ashton’s shoulder in comfort. Even though Calum never laments his own friends' hardships, he is glad to have the focus shifted from him. “You cannot be that harsh on yourself, Ash,” Calum reprimands. “It probably wasn’t all that bad.”

“Mate, utter dog shit, I’m telling you,” Ashton confirms with a grin. “But there’s a pretty cute librarian I’m having a hard time asking out. I took some of my younger cousins for the day and we made a stop at the library, to help give my aunt a day of sanity, you know. And this librarian, she’s really cute, but I feel like I’m cursed after that disastrous date.”

“One bad date is not the end all be all,” Calum encourages. 

“Yeah, you could always go back and ask for a library card or something. Ask for a book recommendation,” Nora suggests. 

“It’s not a bad idea,” Calum agrees. “If you think she’s cute, then it’s worth a shot. At least one.”

Ashton shakes his head, taking a sip of his drink. “I don’t know. Maybe. I think I gotta shake the bad juju off.”

“No better shake than getting back onto the wheel,” Luke chimes in. 

“Shit!” 

“I’m so sorry!”

Calum looks over his shoulder and notices you shaking your hands, like one might do in attempts to get something off them. You’re only a couple steps away from the group, in what looks like attempts to get back with the drinks but getting either bumped or walked into causing those plans to be thwarted. Calum pats Ashton’s chest. “I’ll be right back,” he calls out before walking closer to you. 

There’s more apologies but you spend more time trying to console her than you do worry about the fizzing beer in your hand--and all over them too. “You okay?” Calum asks, slipping a hand along your lower back. 

You nod. “Yeah, yeah, just an accident. I’ll need to get you another water once I get cleaned up.”

The other girl’s so focused and too buzzed as she takes the couple napkins she got with her drinks to dab at the front of your shirt to think fully about what she’s doing. “God, I’m so sorry I ruined your shirt too. I should’ve been more mindful about where I was stepping.”

“Hey, no, it’s fine. Just a shirt,” you offer. “Don’t sweat it. And you don’t have eyes in the back of your head.” 

“Was it the water or beer on your shirt?” Calum asks. Your shrug is enough of an answer before he starts thinking about if he has any spare clothes in his truck. He thinks he’s got a bag of old clothes he’d been meaning to donate that might have something. But he’s not sure. 

It takes a couple more tries to console the girl who stepped into you and reunite her with the people she’d come with before Calum leads you back down the stairs and towards the front door. The stamps on your hands do allow for re-entry so there’s not much worry on that front as you return the now half empty bottle and glass to the bar. 

“We can check my truck. I might have a spare shirt,” Calum comments. 

“I need to wash my hands first. That beer’s going to get sticky if I don’t.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right. I’ll head to my truck and you take care of that. I’ll meet you at the bathrooms.”

“Thanks, love. I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he returns, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. The night is cold as he sips out the front doors. The bouncers don’t give him any issues as he goes. He hopes that bag is actually in the back of his truck. He’d been working on gathering the clothes for the last couple of weeks, and can’t remember right now if it was in the trunk or not.

But the headlights blink as Calum unlocks the doors and eases the tailgate up. There, like a beacon, is the white plastic bag of clothes. “Thank fuck,” he whispers to himself and unties the knot. The clothing items are cold, thanks to the days and nights it’s spent in the truck, but they’re clean and not covered in beer. They’ll have to do for the rest of the night. Calum spots another red top--it’s a button down with a vertical white pin striping design over the entire shirt. He hadn’t worn it in ages and was pretty sure it wasn’t a fit issue, just too many other things he wore more consistently to feel the need to hold onto the item. 

Calum is a little glad for the warmth of the party. It cuts through the chill of sobriety and the winter night. It’s fairly easy to wind through the folks at the border between bar and dancefloor until he reaches the bathrooms. You stand at the start of the hallway that leads to them, your own red button up still clinging to your stomach. 

“I tried to match the theme,” Calum laughs, holding out the new unsoiled item. 

“A real knight in shining armor moment, I appreciate it,” you return, a smile grin decorating your face. “I think it’s mostly water that got on me though. Nothing smells bad yet.”

“Trying to save it?”

“Maybe?” You answer unsure and Calum spots the indecision in your face. 

“There’s some back patios if you want to freeze for a tiny bit to dry it out before we bag it up. I’ve got spare plastic bags on hand.” That Calum knows he has as he keeps them in a reusable bag that sits on his back seat. He’d tell people it’s for emergencies, but there’s very few emergencies that need plastic bags. 

“It is fucking cold out,” you agree. 

“Just change first. Then we’ll worry about the rest second.”

It’s a semi confident nod you give before turning on your heel and heading back towards the bathroom. It’s only a couple minute wait before you resurface and Calum leads you back towards the front rather than towards the back. If you want to save the shirt, he’s not going to risk yours or his health at the same time. 

There’s very little wind, which is a good thing as the two of you breach the front doors and back outside. The rattling music echoes quieter now behind you. Calum’s keys click gently with each step. “I see Nora found you,” you comment, hand squeezing his. 

“I doubt she was looking for me, but yeah.”

“Did it go okay? Sorry I wasn’t there.”

The headlights blink again--bright before cutting out nearly immediately which lets both of you know the vehicle is unlocked. Calum’s shaking his head, paused at the passenger door. “You don’t have to apologize. You went to get us drinks. There’s no way you would’ve known she was headed our way unless you want to admit now you have some sort of supernatural ability.”

Your laughter is short and mostly through your nose. “No, not psychic in the slightest.”

“I didn’t think so. Hop in, we’ll use the vents and the heat to see if we can salvage ourselves and your shirt.”

Calum makes sure that you’re fully situated into the seat before shutting the door and jogs around the front to get the driver side. The blast of chilly air from the car vents is cut rather quickly by the heat. You hold a section of the shirt up directly to the vent to dry it out. The radio reads 11:38 in the glow it casts through the front of the truck. 

“You’re not dead, so I take it the interaction didn’t kill you,” you tease. 

It stung. It definitely stung and maybe it’s not even Nora really. Just the fucking grief. “No, it didn’t. It was…a little awkward but survivable.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“She’s engaged.” It falls softly and Calum can taste his own disbelief still. His head falls back into the cushion of the rest and he can only really stare up at the roof, where the mirror waits to be pulled down for the imagined sun that’s covered now by the thick light of the moon. 

“I’ll propose right now. I don’t have a ring but I mean what’s a better way to get a one up than a New Year's proposal?”

Calum knows he shouldn’t, but he laughs. It’s not that he wouldn’t say yes. It’s not that he doesn’t believe you. He does. He knows he’d accept too. Shit, he’d accept. It’s not a conclusion that he’d really settled into. It’d only been a few months and though he’d fallen hard for you, he’d always imagined being more cautious about the long term commitments. Having you by his side makes daily life better--not necessarily easier, but bearable. You help him get through the sludge of laundry and you listen to the boring stuff. You make him laugh when he needs it most. You ask the hard questions. And it’s you that you Calum wants to do the hard work with. 

The sound of your laughter overtakes his as Calm feels the stunned silence of realization dawn over. He drops his head to look at you. You’re still pushed to the edge of the passenger seat, still holding your wet shirt to the vent. It’s you. He knew that--subconsciously. It just hadn’t broken the surface. But he exhales as you turn your attention back to the vent, moving a new section of the shirt to the vent. 

He’d accept your proposal and maybe eventually you might even accept his. “This isn’t about one upping anyone. But I do appreciate the offer.”

“Just needed to hear you laugh.”

But Calum doesn’t think it’s just a joke. It couldn’t only be a moment of levity meant to cut through the otherwise heavy tension that had fallen upon them. He thinks you might mean it. He knows he will eventually. The radio displays in the blue hue the time: 11:45. The minutes are falling away from him faster than Calum thought they would. His chest doesn’t feel as heavy, not after laughing, but mixed in with grief is a tiny bit of hope. A precarious spot to have such a small seedling but Calum cherishes it. He hopes it can suffocate out the dread. 

“How’s the shirt coming along?” he asks. 

“I think it’s the best I’m going to get for the time being. I do want to be there for the count down, if you’re still game to go back inside.” You bring it to your nose and scrunch your face at the smell. 

“I’m tough,” Calum returns, not really flexing all that hard but it makes you snort as you toss the shirt into the back seat. 

“Real tough,” you nod, leaning across the console. 

The digits blink and the minute rolls over to 11:51. “Beer got on it, huh?”

“A little I think. I’m sure it’s on my pants too. But those are dark enough that it doesn’t matter.”

“We can start the new year with a pile of laundry in the morning. My treat.”

You snort. “I’d appreciate that.”

Calum cuts the heat off first, catching 11:53 on the display before cutting the engine off next. It’s a light jog you two undertake to cross the parking lot and get back into the club. The heat of the bodies crowding the dancefloor is thick. Calum tightens his hold around your hand and tugs you in a little closer. 

“We’re only a few minutes away from the new year y’all! The five minutes will go quickly, so I hope you got your New Year’s kiss at the ready,” the DJ calls out over the sound system. 

The quick speech only spurs more and more people to flood the floor. The couches that you and Calum were perched early now seem nearly impossible to reach again. So he slides you in front of him, his lips are pressed up against your ear. “Have you ever had a New Year’s kiss?” he asks. 

You shake your head no in response, turning to face him now. There’s bodies on either side of you, people pressed into Calum’s back and into yours too. But when you gaze at him it doesn’t matter. “Care to be the first?” you ask.

“We’re ringing in the new year in two minutes!” the DJ announces between the cross fades between songs. 

“And your last while we’re at it,” Calum returns. 

“Ah, I didn’t think we were proposing today.”

“We’re not. Not yet anyway.”

Your brow arches. “Not yet.” It sounds like an agreement, like you too might know that it’s a future goal but not one to be breached just yet. 

Calum’s still got a way to go--see if he can get even stronger around the grief. He still doesn’t know what his future looks like in terms of when he’ll be taking over the throne. It might be best to only take one thing at a time but just because it’s not right now doesn't mean it’s not ever. With so many things happening, so many changes, he savors the idea that he can take his time with this, build more and more of a strong foundation with you. 

“Ten! Nine! Eight!” The chant starts with the DJ and soon the crowd joins in. 

“Five! Four!”

The inches are gone by the time the count down finishes. Though the crowd’s cheering about the new year, Calum’s only focused on you--the soft press of your lips, the warmth of you seeping into his skin through the layers of clothing, the buzz that lights up under his skin. His hands hover for a moment, as they move from your chin to tilt your head down to your hips. Calum wouldn’t normally care this much. But you two are in public. So he wants to be mindful, wants to make sure he’s not taking more than you’re willing to give. It’s not that for a lack of extreme self control, not that it doesn’t knock against his ribs to pull you flush against him.  But he doesn’t have to do any of that. 

You step in, fingers slipping into the loops of his pants and tugging Calum in a tad bit closer. He follows the instruction, with minimal breaks to the kiss, to press his hands now into your lower back, easing and fingertips aching to cup your ass. This he does resist, but part of him thinks you wouldn’t mind it at all. Your fingers trail up his back, pressing at his shoulders until your fingers wind up in his hair. His lips pepper kisses along your jaw. He starts to melt into the scratch of your nails at his scalp. 

“Happy New Year, love,” you breathe into his ear. 

And Calum has to laugh--because he’s not thinking about the new year, or the party, or Nora, or the mess on your pants, on how sticky the floor to this club is underneath his shoes from all the other drinks that were spilled here. The caress of your lips and hands over his body is enough to make all those worries disappear. 

“Happy New Year, baby,” he finally giggles out. 

The rattle of the bass pulsates again, shaking the floor beneath his feet. A chaste kiss is pressed to his cheek before you peel your upper body away from him just a little. Not enough to break the embrace, but enough that there’s a bit of cold air that rushes in and as it slips across Calum’s face, he realizes just how hot his face got, how lost he’d been. 

“Should I attempt the second round of drinks again or no?” you ask. 

“We can go together this time,” Calum offers. “And I’ll make sure if a drink must be spilled it’s on me this time.”

“I think we all much prefer no more spilled drinks. One is already too much of a party faux pas. But lead the way.”

“One more kiss?”

You roll your eyes, head falling back just a little with what Calum barely catches as your laughter. The skin of your neck dazzles in the passing blue and red strobe lights. He almost wants to sink his teeth into it, but again, reframes even in a place like this. When you bring your head back up, you nod. The gap’s shorter this time, you break the centimeters down in one final swoop as you press up and capture Calum’s lips again. 

He hums at the feeling--the every so slight hint of the Sprite from hours ago, the fading taste of your minty toothpaste from earlier. It reminds him he’s not dead. When you latch onto his waist at the bar, both of you leaning in close to be heard by the bartender, Calum’s reminded that even if he wanted the night to prove him right, to prove him as weak, he’d been stronger than anticipated. It didn’t matter if he wobbled at it either; even if he’d sworn up and down the dread and the unknown and the grief would kill him, it hadn’t. 

They most likely never would.

____________________________________

Charlie squeezes at your hand the closer you all get. His steps are bounces next to you. The eagerness radiates off him and you wish it were contiguous. At least then, it’d mask the waves in your ocean as something thinking. Because as it currently stands, you think you’re going to puke, and not because the walls are so white and bright. Not because you can still smell the chemicals from the cleaners they use. Not because people are staring at you. You think you might puke because you’re in front. Melvin and Teagan are behind you and you and Charlie follow behind the attendant--a young woman probably a couple years younger than you if you had to hazard a guess. You don’t remember her name--it started with an H and you think it was Harmony, maybe it was Heather. She greeted you with a big smile and welcomed the four of you inside with a large wave after you’d checked in and slapped the neon green visitor stickers to your chests. 

But none of that matters anymore. You’d have to apologize for ruining such pristine floors. Because as much as you think you’re going to puke, it starts to feel like a reality once you spot Diana. You see her before she can see you, as she swipes at something on the table that you can’t see. It might be crumbs; it could be nothing and just a nervous fidget-one last nervous tic- before she turns to you all. 

The white cardigan swallows Diana’s body, long and big. Yet, somehow her face looks fuller than it has since the last time you saw her. It’s probably the alcohol, though she’d undoubtedly drank herself into the depths, she was probably also not eating as she should. You take in this visage of her; she looks like you imagine a person should look like--no saggy bags and dark circles, no sunken in cheeks. She looks well and her grin is bright as she runs up to the group. Her arms are opened wide. Charlie pulls from your hold just a little, a laugh falling from his lips too. “Mom,” he calls out, closing the distance of a few ten feet or so.

Charlie wears the Birthday Boy pin you’d jokingly gotten for him. It’s pinned into his shirt, right across from the visitor sticker. You worry as he collides into Diana the pin will jut out and poke him, or her. But their embrace is tight and long. Perhaps, the construction of the flimsy thing is studier than it appears. Teagan whizzes past you too towards Diana. 

Diana takes her in with open arms too. “Oh, my babies!” she laughs, but you catch how wet the sound is. Behind the exclamation is the relief. Three months without much contact outside of the phone calls appears to have caught up to her, to them too. 

Melvin hazards just a couple more steps past you and that’s the only thing that makes you realize you’ve paused. He turns back and extends out his hand-a lifeline, the buoy you hadn’t realized you’d been looking for. You ease up a step. Then another. You don’t take Melvin’s hand, but your arm brushes against the tips of his fingers. He seems to understand as he gives a gentle squeeze on your bicep rather than the first offer hand. 

It’s supposed to be a joyous occasion. It’s supposed to be filled with hugs. But by God, you still have failed to conceptualize where you fit. All the talk you’d given to Calum about grief and being stronger than it, but you’d been failing that test too to stand up the battering grief gave. Melvin stays with you until the two of you are only a couple feet apart from Diana. Then he goes in for a hug and a kiss. Intimate, but chaste all the same. They look lost--but not the wandering kind of uncertainty. You get the feeling from Melvin and Diana that you think you have with Calum. They are only lost in each other, only slotting back the pieces that’d been missing. 

Melvin’s not a big guy--about 6’2--and Diana’s not too far behind him at 5’9. But she folds into his chest and you ponder if you should look away. Not that the sight makes you sick, not that you think you can’t witness it as an adult yourself. But you feel the need to steady yourself, check to make sure ribs haven’t actually caved in and haven’t actually punctured a lung. Everything you could’ve wanted for your younger self in front of you and you’re not sure if you can withstand the crushing wave. The tiles on the floor are still spotless here too.

“I’m glad you came,” Diana says. 

You look up at the sound of her voice and she’s a step in front of Melvin, Charlie and Teagan nestled on either side of her. It’s a family that is complete. It’s the family the way it should have always been. Your mouth gapes and you can feel the words burning the tip of your tongue--a dismissal, a joke about how you wouldn’t miss Charlie’s birthday for anything. You can’t say of course you’d come to visit. You shouldn’t give Diana a platitude covered lie. So you just nod.  

“So what’s there to do in this place?” Teagan asks. Her curious mind, undoubtedly, scanning the area surrounding them. 

“Oh, well, I sleep and eat,” Diana laughs. “But for such a special occasion, I got some special dibs on a few card games and a couple board games.”

“And we did bring some treats. But we were told we couldn’t bring them inside,” Charlie relays, having been disappointed about the no outside food in the lobby rule. But you offered, in condolences, that you could maybe sit outside with a few of the snacks. The nurse agreed it would be permissible but that you’d have to use the side garden with supervision. 

“Oh, I’m excited for that,” Diana returns. “But have you all been good? How’s school?”

Charlie and Teagan recount their days in the past week at school--quizzes to take, new things they’ve learned. It all feels so mundane, or that it should be. And to them it probably is as they settle at the large round table. This is normal to them but you feel like you can’t press on, like you can pass through the invisible wall lest you break something or ruin the moment. Melvin stays with you though--in between you and them--that buoy again, a bridge. 

“I know you’re used to standing at your job, but you can sit here, if you’d like,” he offers. 

You take a step. The ground doesn’t shake. Maybe things won’t fall apart. You take another and Melvin walks at your pace until you both reach the table. You don’t want to ruin this. You don’t want to ruin Charlie’s birthday. You don’t want to ruin the first face to face interaction Diana’s had with them in months. But you cannot shake the feeling of fear. You do not for the life of you want to fucking ruin this and you hope Diana doesn’t want to either. You hope it can stay on Charlie and Teagan. It’s so much easier that way. Yet, Diana asked for you to come, so you think perhaps, there will always be something under the surface-- like a cryptid that’s always talked about, rumored about, but never seen. 

“What are taxes?” Teagan asks as her piece lands on the space. She looks over her career card.

“It’s money you pay, in real life, to the government. It helps pay for things like education and healthcare,” Melvin explains. 

“Then why is it in this game? This isn’t real life,” Teagan retorts. 

“Well, it’s the Game called Life, so it’s meant to mirror things in the real world,” Diana tacks on. 

“Charlie, we are not ever playing this game again,” Teagan huffs as she slides the bills over to the bank pile. He’d picked the game to play. 

“Hit Happy Old Age and then we never will,” he laughs in return, picking up the die for his roll. 

“If this is supposed to be real life, we should have pets.” It feels so matter of factly from Teagan. You figure in a place like this the funding’s not always going towards the latest and greatest in boardgame technology. But she’s not one to argue with. 

“I still miss Hungry, Hungry, Hippos,” you muse, taking in account your position on the board. You think maybe you should swap careers, but know that you’re pushing your luck with what’s already been traded in. 

“What’s that?” Charlie asks. 

“Just a game where you slap the crap out of a lever and try to collect as many balls into your hippos mouth/side. Largest amount wins,” you explain. 

“Do they have that Mom?” Teagan questions. 

Diana shakes her head. “No, but it is a pretty fun game. Maybe when I’m back home we can get it and play.”

“Hmm, okay, sounds good,” Charlie returns but then huffs when he lands on a bad space. “C’mon! I’m so close. I don’t want any taxes,” he huffs, pulling his card from the pile. You only laugh, watching the intensity on his face as he reads over what he’s supposed to do next. 

As the hours pass and the games of Clue and Life and the rounds of Uno wind down to the close, when all the laughter is falling down around you, you left feeling Diana’s gaze. You feel it like the needle of a tattoo gun piercing skin--constantly and with a prick each time. You’d noticed it earlier, in the last round of Uno, when you were itching to slap your +2 down but ate the two cards you were forced to take, since Teagan had been particularly prickly about adhering to the “real rules” for one round. The house rules-while enjoyable-weren’t always easy to be on the receiving end of. Thus, leaving you to play more cautiously since Charlie and Teagan were on either side of you and they’d be enduring all of the suffering had you not gone as easy as you had. And all the while, as you picked up cards, and put them back down, you contended with Diana’s pointed stare--if you’d actually meet her gaze or focus on your cards in your hand. 

But all things come to an end and when Charlie asks if you all can go to the side garden to enjoy the snacks while there’s still plenty of light from the afternoon sun, Diana asks for you to stay back from Melvin, Teagan, and Charlie’s walk to the front and out to the car for the cooler and grocery bags. The wave of bile crashes against your throat, though it never crosses your lips as you help her reassemble the games and place them back onto the communal shelf. The rattle of the game pieces cuts through the soft sound of the TV as a ding sounds from the episode of Family Feud. 

“I owe you an apology,” Diana starts. “For the way I acted at the restaurant; I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to ambush you like that. You’ve been very clear in your boundaries with me and I crossed them. I’m sorry, too, for the drinking now and before. It was my duty, and still is my duty to be your mother, I feel. I failed that by being worried about everything else but you.”

There’s no warning, no wind up to this spiel that Diana’s launching into. You can still feel the dust of the shelves on your fingertips as you’ve yet to bring your hands back to your sides. You hate how much this apology too reminds you of an ambush, of Diana forcing onto you something you’re not ready for. But you’ve all but begged for an apology. You fantasized about how it might sound to hear Diana admit her wrongdoing. You wondered if she’d look you in the eyes. You wondered if she’d hold your hands. You wondered if you’d cry. All you feel is the instinctual part of your brain telling you to stay still and the danger will pass. 

“And I think I’m messing up again,” she laughs when you don’t speak. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

What do you say to that? Do you tell her it’s okay even if it’s not? Do you give her a platitude knowing it’s a fucking lie anyway? “We’re rusty,” you return and straighten up to face her. “Very rusty.”

Diana nods, gaze falling to the floor. “I just--would it help to give you context? Why I did what I did?”

“I hope we’re not talking about the drinking.” You feel like a parent now with how much she refuses to meet your gaze. It’s not that Diana was in trouble, per se. She’d already been in trouble. But she looks like she’s been caught, hands wringing around themselves. She’d not get deeper in trouble with you or anyone else. But you admit that you were the nail in the coffin for her. You’d been the final blow and you can’t fault the apprehension. 

“Well,” she starts and then stops. 

It’d be so easy to say Diana’s just doing this for herself. It’d be easy to theorize that she’s got some sort of homework that she needs to check off, so she can take it back to the doctors here and prove to them that she’s really improving. But you know you shouldn’t. You know that you need to give her some amount of hope. Change in people is real and Diana’s among them that deserve a shot at it. 

“Yes, and no. But I mostly want to explain everything and my actions,” Diana answers, finally looking back up to you. 

“You’re sure about doing it here? Now?” But the question should be are you sure you’re ready to hear such context here and now. The question should be: will anything that Diana says change how you feel? Would it truly ever make a difference? 

Diana nods. “I am.”

I’m not. You inhale for three seconds, then exhale for five. It doesn’t stop the thump of your heart against your ribs, but you nod too. “Then I’m all ears.” You can feel the heat on your skin, the prickle of sweat on your pits and palms. You’re all nerves too, exposed like cut wires. 

Diana nods. But there’s a few second gap before she speaks again. You don’t know if there’s enough time to laugh or to cry. Diana starts before you can make up your mind, “I can only recall in pieces what I said to you that night. I just know I wanted you home and that I admitted that drinking was sometimes easier to do than face the reality. But it’s not your fault. Melvin and I made choices and we have to live with the outcome. I felt unprepared to be a parent, but it’d been something I always wanted, you know? I wanted the house, the white picket fence, the three kids, the dog, maybe even the cat. I wanted that but when I got pregnant with you, I was not ready to be a mother. There were plenty of other options for me to choose from. I am not faulting you. I made those choices and I should’ve asked for help. Melvin and I both should’ve. But I was the oldest of the girls and I was supposed to have it together. I realize now that’s an expectation I have to unburden myself of. I just wanted to do it right and do it myself. But it was not without cost. 

“I’m really, so sorry. I failed you. You needed a mother, not a drunk. And maybe you still want a mother too, in me. I don’t know,” she sighs. She blinks rapidly, swallows hard by the bob of her throat. You mimic the action, eyes blinking back hot tears. When they started to fall you don’t know. But they’re here now. They fall down your cheeks and you don’t even think to wipe them away. Being human is the most universal condition--a fallible being who’s bound to make mistakes, and bound to want to fix them too. 

Diana continues on. “That night outside your job, I wanted to ask you to come to the house, to spend time with me and your dad and try and repair our relationship. I didn’t ask it right. I can understand your anger and your frustrations with me. I made it about me and what I wanted, not about you. I’m sorry. Nothing feels right. Not with the way we stand. And I’d,” Diana pauses, her lower lip quivers. The emotions now breaking down the dam she’d been putting up before. “I’d like to repair it--our relationship, I mean. I’d really, really like my family unit complete with you there. I’d love to know what you do for fun or what your favorite color is, if it’s still green. I just, I think my heart will always ache for you and what could be.”

You don’t hate her. You don’t think the anger you felt was ever true hatred. It was frustration; it was fear. It was always the child in you begging to be listened to; the anger was always something else in disguise. You don’t hate Diana. You’re relieved to hear the admission. You’re relieved to be vindicated. But you don’t know if one apology fixes it all. You don’t know if the decades that haunted you can be put to rest in one speech. 

“I appreciate that,” you start. Diana swims in your vision before the blink clears away a few more tears. “Thank you for telling me. But I-I don’t know if I can answer all of that right now. I don’t know where we stand. I want you to be better for Charlie and Teagan. They need you right now more than I do.” 

It almost slips, the hotly pressed line of her lips tells you she’s still got a long way to go and so do you. Yet, Diana nods instead, the frustration slipping away just as quickly as it rose. “I’ll get it right eventually,” she returns, her words soft and choked. She wipes at her nose with the back of her hands. “Thanks for listening to me.”

A nurse comes by with a box of tissue and you both take a few to wipe your faces. You are here, in the rehab center, off to the side in the visitor center. You’re surrounded, others with their loved ones as well, the TV still playing just loud enough in the background. Somehow the interjection of the tissues brings you back down to earth. You should say something else. You know it, feel it in your bones that you should, but you don’t have the words on your tongue anymore. 

“We got the goods!” Teagan calls out. Her feet thud behind you but echo louder as she approaches. “I was told by the nurse I could collect you two!” she laughs but it cuts short just as she reaches you two. “Were there big feelings I missed?” Her voice falls into a whisper. 

“It’s all okay, sweetheart,” Diana answers. “Now what are these snacks, huh?”

Before Teagan gets more than two steps out towards the door to the side garden, she takes hold of your wrist. “No one gets left behind. Not with Oreos on the line.”

Tossing the used tissue into the trash, you slip your hand up into hers. “You’re right, kiddo. Thanks.” 

Later in the night, after collecting your car from the house and saying goodbye to Teagan and Charlie, and after you’ve slithered into bed, skin still warm from the shower, you think about what you could’ve said to Diana. You could’ve told her that part of you always wanted to fix it. You could’ve told her that you’re too scared to fail again. You could’ve told her about the gala and the painting that sold. You could’ve told her about the website that you’re about to start building; how it’s almost done. You could’ve told her that you’re working just for individuals first and then you’ll start taking on bigger projects for stores and companies. You could’ve told her how you’ve quite enjoyed your time working the bar. You could’ve told her that you didn’t want to work in the restaurant world forever. 

But you didn’t tell her anything. 

Calum turns, you can feel the bed shake and dip. His warmth pulls back just a little from your side. You know he’s asleep. His breathing is deep and even, the occasional snore slipping from his chest. You watch him sleep for the moment, a small sliver of moonlight slips in through the curtains and you can see the essence of him--just enough light to see his laughs, the full lips set underneath his strong nose. 

You feel like you’re hiding. You feel like you’ve always been hiding, especially when it comes to your parents. It was the easy option. It was the safe option to hide. You’re hiding now, in these sheets, away from the world that could so kindly embrace you. It could hurt. And it would--that part you were certain of. The world would always hurt you but you had to be bigger than that. You had to be more than the hurt the world dished out. You would be more than just the things that had hurt you. 

You ease out from the bed, careful as you crack open the bedroom door. Calum doesn’t stir, holds steady to his position and you slide out into the hallways. The light is jarring, forcing you to squint your eyes. But you know these hallways better now thanks to the months and take them down to the stairs. From the stairs, you head up one floor, to the library. The doors are still heavy and wooden but you’re prepared for the heave as you work the door open. The moonlight echoes over the floors from the large windows along the east walls. 

There’s enough light that you can make your way through the room towards the windows, which will lead you to the middle row of tables. You switch on the lamps at the desk and they give off just enough light that you can rummage a bit more safely. You find a legal pad left behind--you don’t know who it belongs to but you take it. Situated at the corner of the table is a holder with several pens inside. You pull one out--attempting to discern if it’s blue or black ink but in the dark, it matters not what color it is. As you settle into a chair, right under the soft yellow glow of the lamp, the words--all the things you could verbalize--feel a little bit easier to get out. 

Diana, 

I bartend at the moment. I do one night in the week in the kitchen, but most of my shifts are at the bar. It makes me an acting manager if no one else is there, but I don’t mind the added responsibility for now. 

I paint too. I auctioned a piece off for the Royal charity gala this year and it went for 135,000 dollars. The number still feels surreal to me. 

I’m building a website to take commission and paint more. 

I’m in love with a man, who happens to be the prince, but to me he’s still a man that prefers my cooking to his own and promises me he’ll learn. I think he says it so I don’t feel bad, but I’d never feel bad. Because it means a lot to me that he enjoys it. He’s cared for Teagan and Charlie in ways I have not had to ask him to care, simply because he sees how much I care about them. I’d like a quiet life with Calum, or as quiet of a life as we can get all things considered. 

I have friends--people who like me for all the dry humor and general stand-off behavior I exhibit. There are people who see my heart and want nothing else in return for it really. 

I have fears too. 

I’m afraid I’ll get hurt again by you, and by Melvin. You two will always be my parents. You two will always hold that space. But I am afraid. I’m afraid I’ll be the kid again begging you to pay attention and getting cast aside time and time again. I’m afraid that if I get too close it’ll ruin you and thus, ruin Charlie and Teagan too. I’m afraid I might have ruined you, and them too, but I know that I only made choices that I felt were right. 

I don’t want Charlie or Teagan to have to go through what I went through. I want them to remember their mom and dad as present figures, as parents that tucked them in at night, as parents there for the games, and the recitals, and the science fairs. I want them to have everything I didn’t. I want, for them, in ways I have never wanted even for myself. I want things for them that they cannot fathom, and sometimes neither can I. I do not know if this is the same love a parent has for a child, but it feels close. 

I know you want things for me. You want things for yourself. You want things to be different between us for yourself too. I understand. 

Yet, I have so, so, so much fear. I fear you’re trying to get better for all the wrong reasons. Not for me. Not for Melvin. I want you to get better for you. I want you to see how strong you can be. And maybe, maybe then things can change between us. Maybe they won’t ever change. 

I’m willing to see where time takes us, if you are. But I can’t make any promises. Are you okay without promises? Are you okay with time, however long it takes? 

The words stare back at you and you think you could say more, but what more could you ask of her or yourself? How much more until it became impossible?

“Where did you sneak off to last night?” Calum asks as you both sit at the long kitchen table over cups of coffee. His voice is thick still with sleep, but he watches you carefully. The  hot pan Valerie works over sizzles as she drops something--you think it might be shredded potatoes, as it’s become her own signature breakfast dish. You’d tried to take over when you two first entered the kitchen, but she swatted at your hands with the spatula. It was enough to make you heed the warning. 

“I thought I was quieter than that.”

“I woke up at one point to use the bathroom and you weren’t in bed. But your phone was still on the nightstand so I wasn’t sure if you went to get a snack. I might’ve fallen back to sleep faster than I anticipated,” he snorts. 

“I went to the library,” you answer honestly. 

“You couldn’t sleep, hmm?”

You shake your head and stare down into the mug. The coffee’s bitter--more so than usual. But you watched Calum pour the sugar into your mug. You watched him put in just a splash of milk like he always does. And maybe it’s not the coffee at all. From the pocket of your robe, you pull out the two sheets of paper you filled last night and slide it over to Calum. 

He takes them. “Look at me, please?” You exhale before bringing your head up. “Wake me next time, okay? When you can’t sleep.”

“What if it’s all the time?” you tease. “I’ve heard a man like you needs his beauty sleep.”

“Then I’ll be a man that just looks haggard. Wake me,” he commands again. You know he means it. The sincerity drips from his gaze and if you could watch the falling drops they’d land too in his own mug. You nod and take another sip of the coffee; it’s just enough for him to turn his attention back down to the paper--satisfied with your response. 

You watch him read over the lines, eyes darting left to right and then down another line. Left to right. Then down another line. He goes until he reaches the end. Calum flips the page over and sets it face down onto the table. You wonder if he does that with all documents too, as to not lose any pages or get them out of order. He finishes before you can truly come back to your senses and asks, “Are you going to send it? Or just needed to get it off your chest?”

You hear the sounds of the questions but it takes another few seconds for the words to unravel and make sense. “I’m going to send it off, yeah. She just…she unloaded a lot onto me and I didn’t know how to respond in the moment.”

“Until now,” Calum corrects. 

“Until now,” you agree.

“I’ve got stamps in my office if you need one.” His words are calm. But his eyes are wide. 

“Have I shocked you? Was it something I said?”

“Have you shocked yourself? Just a few months ago, I think you were more inclined to spit on her grave plot. Now you’re asking her to give you time to see what changes, if anything. I know what she’s done to you. I know that you don’t have to forgive her. I know all the things I said, and did, and even assumed that you’d want to fix this, that you’d want something more. And I think, with time, it’s less about what you wanted as much as I saw what time might do. But the question still stands: Do you want anything from her for yourself?”

That--that was the hard part. You wanted things, but they were always for others. You wanted Diana to get better. But that was for Charlie and Teagan. You wanted her to get better for herself too, so that she could prove to herself what she was made of. But you don’t know if you’ve got anything else left in you to want for yourself with Diana. 

“I just want peace,” you return. “But even I don’t know what that looks right now. So maybe I do want time to figure that part out too.”

“You can ask for that,” Calum encourages, sliding the pages back to your side of the table. “You can ask for a truce and you can want peace.”

“What if peace is always a chasm?” It worries you that Diana will never let you go. Not now, not when she’s so close. 

Calum takes your hands, fingers peeling yours ever so gently from the mug before slotting his palms around your single hand. He squeezes and you squeeze back. “That’s not your war to fight. If you want peace and you’re able to be respectful about it, then it’s Diana’s burden to bear to heal and live with that too. She doesn’t get to dictate the conditions of your life anymore.”

Part of you likes the idea of being closer to Melvin. While you didn’t think you’d ever be where Calum and his parents are, you like the idea of having Melvin have some level of access to you personally. He was genuinely sweet. He wanted to treat you like a person--not like a child anymore. But with Diana you wondered if she could turn it off, be not a mom for a little bit and just be a person with you. 

“What if it’s just her?” you ask in a whisper. “What if she’s the only one that can’t do it?”

“Not your fight,” Calum answers with a shrug. “You don’t have to carry her behaviors and consequences. You are not at fault for what she does. If you need it, take this as permission to stop fighting her battles. It’s time she handles her own mess.”

Had you been taking up Diana’s fight as your own? Or does Calum just mean that you no longer have to dance around her feelings? But no matter how it shakes, no matter what he means, something exhales. You feel it in your lungs at first and then your shoulders drop. He is right. Diana’s own actions would have their own consequences. She shouldn’t be shielded from them. 

“I’ll need that stamp, if it’s not too much of a bother,” you state, rolling your shoulders back just a hair. 

“Never a bother.”

[ikaishere]

its writers appreciation time, bitches. will probaly do one every once in a while, because writers lack appreciation and it sucks. @breannasfluff I think that's just like. do I need to say I love her stuff? not only does she actively runs 3 aus (wing bois, which have amazing ravioli and triple threat, eldirtch wild and wolf pack!!!!!) but also HAVE YOU EVER READ HER RAVIOLI STUFF??? best food ever. delicious full course meal. such good fluff (living up to her name fr fr). i beg you if you haven't checked out her stuff what are you even doing go and catch up!!!!! @arecaceae175 again, I think its a given..................... i think about "in defense of honour" on a daily basis. their writing style is just AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA and, if you need good sky-centric content....you know who to check @kovacs-on-ice dude I cant be too nice to you I cant let my soft side exist but. you know how badly I appreciate you. anyways, he has an extremely cool lu au (eclipse au, which I've done some art for...) AND IS THE AMAZING WRITER FOR ETERNAL FROST AU!!!!!! @marcusdoodlesalot HIS MODERN AU!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i forgot the name of the trio but if you ned good warriors twi sky content you know where to look for it. amazing stuff, truly @majorproblems77 again, I think we all know how much I adore majors stuff. their whumptober...............the tears I shed on it........... such a good whump writer, really GO CHECK THEM OUT! RIGHT! NOW! @the-sleepydetective that series where champions talk with chain members.......gods above good shit. such a good writer, as all of the above. AND they have some delicious ravioli there is so many more that I want to list but either a) I will another time b) I'm too scared to tag- TO ALL THE WRITERS. I FUCKING LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[librarian-computer]

This is not an art post, but I will be making art for this later.

There is an AU I’m making for the fic Eclipse Meets His Match, which is all by @theinfamousdoctorf ! Not me, I am simply making an AU from an idea I’ve had stuck in my head.

So if you’ve read Eclipse Meets His Match, you may be interested in this.

I’d like to say, this probably will take place after most recent chapters and somewhere in the future, so it doesn’t interfere with what’s already happened. The things that happen in this AU HAVE NOT happened in the actual fic, so don’t get that confused. If you have questions about the AU ask ME if you have questions about Eclipse Meets His Match, obviously, ask @theinfamousdoctorf and/or @emhm

Now imma info dump :)

(Btw, I’ll be saying KC for the Killcode that the main dimension has. I’ll just be saying Killcode for the Killcode in Solar’s dimension)

As we know, Eclipse was made post-separation of Sun and Moon, due to the code of KC being left behind in Sun, this caused Eclipse to exist.

Eclipse made Lunar out of the good code within him

Eclipse made Bloodmoon out of the KC code that he had within him, which is why Bloodmoon was so violent and aggressive.

So, as we know about Solar’s dimension. Solar was created the exact same way.

In the main fic, Solar doesn’t hardly have ANY Killcode in him, due to Badmoon caring too much for Sunny to purposely put most of his Killcode into him. The only Killcode Solar had was jsut enough to cause Solar to be created.

But this is where it changes for the AU.

Say maybe Badmoon unintentionally didn’t entirely take all of his Killcode during the separation, that leave the Killcode in Sunny, and then Solar when he manifests.

Solar never made a Lunar or Bloodmoon, so all his code is untouched. So he has just enough Killcode in him for it to cause him to act different… right…? Well due to Solar having more of a non-confrontational, and calm nature, Solar’s Killcode was left buried deep and untouched into his code. Abandoned

So then skip to now, he’s in the main dimension with Eclipse, Sun, Moon, Earth, Lunar, Bloody and Harvest.

(I’m repeating this again, the things that I explain from now on and before this DO NOT happen in the actual fic)

This is where I explain the EVENTS that happen in the even by the cause of the explanation before; It was a particularly bad day for Solar, everyone had been busy and worried over the creator and let’s say Ruin, and they forgot to stock up on coffee. So that day, Solar was both running with NO coffee and a particularly busy day in the theatre. Monty decides that, that day was the day he was going to saunter into the theatre and bug Solar. Solar gets irritated and snaps at him, Month realizes it’s not worth the trouble to beat around the bush and then just grabs Solar and leaves with him. (To take him to the Monty and Puppet podcast) Meanwhile Sun, Moon, and everyone else isn’t aware of Solar’s sudden absence.

Already, during that day, Solar was losing his calm, and was losing his temper. Which was already stirring the Killcode code that was otherwise untouched.

Monty and Puppet go on and do whatever they do and say whatever they say, which at some point Monty hits a nerve and Solar snaps at him. Monty takes this as opportunity to continue jabbing and prodding Solar about the subject and soon Solar snaps and stands up from his chair, partially panicking and pissed off, to snap at Monty.

At some point the once argument becomes more serious and Solar shoves Monty harshly, causing him to stumble. Monty takes the point and snaps at him again( at this point the Killcode has already made itself known within Solar. Maybe a bit too late) Solar continues to panic as Monty moves towards him and shoves him against the wall( Monty has anger issues)

At this point Solar begins to experience what old Moon had, and feels a burning sensation in the back of his faceplate ( I want to say, Solar’s Killcode is NOT sentient, just blindly violent and aggressive) Solar in the midst of his whole other, otherwise agonizing sensation, is hit onto the back by the wall as Monty retaliates his earlier attempt in physical force. This causing him to spasm and the whirlwind of emotions to scramble and scatter, his eyes flashing red and warnings of an overheat and errors popping up onto his HUD. At this point Monty has stopped what he was doing. After a few moments, Solar stands and immediately attacks Monty, catching the Gator off guard. Solar is mostly in control of his actions, but he continues to attack Monty due to the influence of his emotions, which support his anger and frustration with the Gator. Monty acts out in self defense and ends up slashing a large mark over Solar’s chest, he using his foot to pin Solar down and uses his weight to begin to crush the solar animatronic’s body beneath his foot. While this, Solar begins to have a crisis, his optics burning from the obvious overheating that his fans are desperately trying to prevent, and the oil that leaks and trails down his faceplate. His eyes glitch and the black oil color seems to spread on the remaining orange iris and it soon matches the other black eye. His pupils flash red, and at this point, he is completely lost…

Im stopping it here because after that point, Solar damn near decommissions Monty and scares the shit out of Puppet.

That’s pretty much it tho. Past that event, Solar is completely different. Easily irritable, lashes out more, more cynical, more aggressive, a bit of sanity no doubt lost, and his code is now pretty much merged with his Killcode’s.

I will be making art ;)

[callmeklair]

okay, i totally forgot to post this chapter and was almost about to post the new update and cause confusion kshakbsn, so with this chap, Tumblr is finally caught up with Ao3 and new chapter tomorrow on both the sites together :D

ALSO i really love how i was able to portray Yui in this chapter, my baby deserves better.

declaration

Chapter four

“and now I'm finally free from his grip.”

Next day Yui walked down the corridors of the school hallway eagerly to reach the special classroom and tell Shin that she will accept his proposal, trying her best to stay composed, but the excitement won’t let her.

Many people mistook Yui as some crazy person as she was happily jumping up and down while walking in the hallway.

I mean who wouldn’t? Yui was always a shut-in, no matter how many people approached her. She rarely ever smiled and today they get to see this precious girl’s brightest smile. They were mesmerised by how delicate and soft her smile was. It was a surprising scene…

"Shu…?" Yui quizzically called out to the blond who suddenly took a hold of her hand, stopping her in mid of her little rendezvous. 

"Don't…." 

"...huh?"

"I said don't go." His voice was harsh yet desperate, causing Yui to become more confused. The hold on her hand gets tighter and the next thing she knows is that she is in an unknown empty classroom and Shu is hugging her with his head down on her shoulder. 

To Yui, all the vampires' behaviour was starting to get stranger and stranger. A lot of emotions were starting to swirl inside her mind causing a knot in her stomach. This is weird and confusing…… and scary. She doesn't know why but the current atmosphere and behavioural she is encountering is making her shiver. 

"That tall guy from Mukamis told us about your little hangout today. ha… seriously can't believe he gave you permission without consenting others. and you… it's still dangerous out there for you, have you forgotten? the founders." 

".....!"

ah! she knows what it is. 

fear. 

The sudden change is causing her to fear. Just a few days ago she was considered nothing but a sacrificial bride, blood bag, food, eve, prey. and now suddenly they are…. 

is it because of the lunar eclipse and the threat involving founders as they are at their weakest now? Their worried nature for her suddenly doesn't settle well with her. until now all the things she has seen and been through with them… due to them, is causing her to fret over even to the slightest difference in their behaviour. 

she knows this feeling. the fear exists not because they are vampires but their sudden attitude. she doesn't want to go through it again…. after the truth about her father was revealed. 

what if their behaviour is caused by the lunar eclipse? what if they are just being worried because of the founders' threat and their inability to fight during this course of time? 

these thoughts always appeared at the back of her mind whenever she saw them being different. 

she was scared to make herself comfortable with their new way of behaviour, thinking it will all be over when the lunar eclipse ends or the threat of the founders'.

is that why she might have tried to find comfort in Shin's arms? is that why she is so unguarded around him because for once she wants to enjoy herself without any other thoughts than the moment happening? no fear of being bitten, no fear of losing her blood, no fear of angering anyone, no fear of watching her actions carefully, no fear of causing even the slightest mistakes.

she really was desperate huh

she bitterly laughed at herself, internally, with tears starting to threaten to form near her eyes.

"I have not shu-san"

"then why…" It was the first time Yui had heard him speak with such a low broken voice. this is making her own self cry at his state. why are things taking such turns that she can't even feel safe with their nice way of expressing themselves.

"what should we do then? keep hiding from them? keep running away? Aren't we just helping them by making things easier by doing all these?" 

"Shu…" with little confidence within herself, Yui reached out to him and took a hold of his face in her small palms as they made an anguished eye contact.

"If their goal is me, no matter what they're going to hunt me down. even if the new transferred students are founders', we….." Yui didn't know how to comprehend her words. she wants to convey Shu about her strong determination but she falls short on how, as she can't find the correct words to describe her feelings and thoughts.

"I think I understand where you are getting at" his tone was still lower than usual but a little relieved as he started to get what Yui was on about. She is trying to protect them in her own way by finding things herself as she is the main queen connected to all of these.

Yui still remembers, when she returned from the Mukamis and asking Reiji about the details of their plan as she is involved in it but only to be dismissed by him saying that it's none of her concern before getting bitten. 

that incident made her realise again how helpless she is in front of these vampires and even if she is involved in something, they won't tell her easily and keep her in the dark. 

it's risky but it's also the only way to find the truth herself.

after all, she has already given up on resisting these people as she is completely aware of her powerlessness against them. 

"I'll be taking my leave now" Yui politely excused herself without waiting for other's response as she left the empty classroom and rushed to the rooftop to calm her thoughts down. 

– At rooftop :

she can't visit Shin in such a state, he will obviously notice the cracks in her voice. she can't be vulnerable in front of him, especially if he is one of the founders', maybe. 

deep down Yui prayed miserably for Shin to not turn out a founder so she can keep drowning herself in their small cherishing moments with him.

so that she can finally be a little selfish. 

no she is already being selfish by ignoring the dangers and threats around her. 

w-why. Yui's thoughts start to become darker. it gets worse when she peers at the forest surrounding the school from all directions, through the metal bars which reminds her of a prison. 

Grabbing them, she symbolises how the scenery beyond looks like she is watching it from a cage.

an open cage, yet… it's still a cage. 

something small goes inside Yui's right ear and she hears a soft tune calming her down a little. Turning, she sees Chaewon giving her a small unsure smile fearing the blonde woman in front of her didn't want to be disturbed and she went out of her own way and still did it. But Yui was already too exhausted from her frenzy convictions to notice it.

Yui touches the small object in her ear, taking in its shape and realising it's an earpiece. and smiled.

this time, Chaewon again smiled but with certainty. 

a moment passed as both of them indulged themselves in the humming in their ears. 

finally Chaewon spoke. "I'm sorry for disturbing you. But when I saw you, it looked like you were getting farther from your own self."

"thank you" 

Yui finally took in the girl's appearance as she noticed how her delicate features and siren eyes glimmered under the moon. her deep black long hair, which reached until her waist contrasted with her pale white skin. she looked more fragile and weaker than last time she saw her on that day. is it because of her? is it because she interfered where she wasn't?

as if reading her thoughts, Chaewon shakes her head and calls out to her. "No, I should be the one thanking you, for that day. remember? you saved me from my horrible boyfr- no, ex. If it weren't for you, maybe I wouldn't be here and instead inside a hospital or worse. That day after leaving, I immediately filed a complaint against him in the school with the help of one of the teachers"

Chaewon paused to give a teary smile.

"and now I'm finally free from his grip. so, thank you so much again." 

For the first time in a while, Yui felt refreshed. a sense of achievement. No words can describe what she was feeling right now after finding that she was able to help someone to get out of their shackles that had bound them down roughly.

"uhm, I never got to know your name. mine is Ahn Chaewon, what's yours?" a new kind of energy was emitting from the girl in front of Yui and she giggled at it as she was reminded of past her. no. she is still her, just crushed between the circumstances.

"I'm Komori Yui" Yui has lost count of the times she has smiled now after conversing with Chaewon. 

She has made another friend. 

– At special classroom :

Yui was surprised to find the special classroom empty, but soon her expression turned sour as she thinks that she won't be able to go to Shin's house anymore and practise dance with him, if he has not come to school today. 

her thoughts were interrupted by echoing footsteps behind her and her expression turned back to glee and turned around.

"What are you doing here?" it wasn't Shin. but instead his older brother Carla. Again disappointed, she tries her best to not show it obviously on her face.

"I-I was looking for shin-kun. I h-had something-g to talk to him about" more than disappointment, Yui was trying her best to hide the overwhelming pressure Carla's presence was causing on her. why does she become like this everytime in front of him? 

an eerie silence befell upon the two of them and Yui inwardly begged Shin to show up as soon as possible. As on cue Shin finally showed himself.

"Yui?" the amount of relief and joy she felt just only by hearing his voice. she cried in happiness to herself in her mind.

"Shin-kun!"

"what are you doing here? with my brother?" his voice came out off-note. Yui wondered if anything happened to him, his usual cheery tone was very down.

"I wanted to t-talk to you a-about yesterday."  still pressured by Carla's presence, she tries her best to not stammer and get straight to the point.

"oh." his usual smile returned as he beamingly asked if she was ready and she nodded, signalling her acceptance of his proposal.

"what is this all about?" confused, Carla's demands to know what they are talking about as he doesn't like being kept in the dark.

"it's nothing much nii-san, she just wanted to learn how to dance with me" as he explained, Shin came closer to Yui putting himself between his brother and her like a shield.

"hmph. do whatever you guys want." and he left soon after not prying more in their business but not before giving Shin a doubtful look.

– At Tsukinami manor :

"and 1, and 2 and 3. now twirl around by taking hold of my finger" 

"like this?" Yui took Shin's finger as instructed by him and twirled.

"yes, very good, but your posture is a little loose which can make you disbalance and fall."

"okay, I'll take note of that!" Yui beamed as she looked around the room once again. She is still in disbelief that Shin lives in such a big luxurious yet classical manor with his brother alone. Isn't this place way too big for just two people? just like Sakamakis' and Mukamis' manors, least people but big houses. 

Right now she and Shin were inside a big hall which was totally covered in baby blue and cream white palette with specks of gold. a huge chandelier hanging above them like those she has seen in royal genre movies at her home.

this house is totally giving royal vibes. 

She secretly glanced at Shin and noticed how he blends so well with this colour palette, no. this colour palette blends with Shin. the gold lightening glistening over his strawberry hair as his pure golden eye shine with a sparkle and take the spotlight. 

his eye…. she has never seen any gold more shining than this. she might have never had any interest in gold before but now she does and he is the reason. 

"mesmerised?" Shin smirked as he observed Yui's reaction and her curious stare.

"very… it's beautiful" at this point she didn't know herself if she was talking about the room or Shin.

anguish. contempt.

it's that eye, which has brought her a sense of calmness, relief and freedom in the midst of all the chaos and hell she is living in. 

only if she knew, how that eye is also going to bring all the emotions opposite of what she achieved above in some time.

anguish. contempt.

[mr-nauseam]

Practice 2

TW: Emotional dependency. Manipulation.

...

Sejanus' hand began to bleed, staining his lower lip. 

Noticing the taste of iron in his mouth, he regained awareness of the pain he felt but had ignored. He paused, and stared at his anxiety-ravaged fingernails. He remembered bitterly why he had felt such relief when Coriolanus had stopped speaking to him six months ago. 

It didn't matter if it was good times, or distressing instants like this, when Coryo paid attention to him his world was eclipsed. Sejanus became helplessly incapable of thinking about anything but the welfare of that boy who smelled of roses. He was a prisoner of his own devotion, and he hated (and loved) so much to feel the way he did.

Coriolanus always had too much power over him. That was why it was so unfair that he should come to interrupt the quiet, pleasant life he had managed to achieve so much for him, much less that he should do it so abruptly, calling out to him, as his brittle voice echoed through the room, asking for help. 

His help. Sejanus couldn't refuse him, even though Coriolanus had pushed him aside, letting him be alone again. Turning over the little device that played the message Sejanus thought that the circumstances would have to be extraordinary for someone like Snow to make a plea for help. As well as he knew him, he understood that this was a chink in his perfect armor of control and mettle, one that only he could witness. 

It was only because of the courage he believed it took Snow to confess his apparent weakness that Sejanus wondered if he could forgive him his silence on his return from the 12th district, and the change in his gaze. At first he had been desperate, frantically chasing the tall, lanky figure of Coriolanus whenever he saw him in the crowd. In those days he was full of questions and longed for answers: "Why don't you greet me", "why are you avoiding me"

"Did I something wrong?"

Snow never bothered to listen to his grief. In fact, he tried not to be in the same room as Sejanus but there were a couple of times he granted his mercy. Like that encounter in the library. Sejanus had to venture into the ethics section of the compound for a class, he wandered through the shelves somewhat lost, because he hardly ever went near that section. 

Not because he wasn't interested in the subject but his father had been so clear in his threats to be send to Dr. Gaul, that he had had to give up things that would ignite that little flame that still existed within him and begged for justice in an insane world. The best thing, no doubt, was not to give himself incentives. 

At the back on a small table, surrounded by chemistry books, and biology, was Coriolanus, his curly hair shining thanks to the sun shining through the small window he was near. Sejanus approached, walking past him as if it were no big deal, and couldn't help but notice that Coryo was drawing a sinister but very beautiful bird on a pad. The strokes were a bit sullen for his taste, but still the drawing was impressive. 

He was almost walking away completely when Snow's deep voice stopped him:

"You wouldn't like them so much if you knew what they were." 

Sejanus froze. Not knowing what to say. 

Coriolanus laughed lightly. "They're Dr. Gaul's creations. They're called Jabberjay, and they used them in the war to discover the rebels' plans. Do you want to know how they work?"

He didn't want to but he wasn't going to stop him. Sickly enjoying that he was talking to him. 

Using his drawing as an outline he pointed out to him the details that revealed the artificiality in what looked genuine: a beak as long and thin as a needle, a deep but mechanical stare. "They can hear everything, always attentive to their surroundings and with the ability to repeat every word the traitors say. They were a very useful weapon, almost infallible but they were ruined." 

Sejanus wait for more. He waited in vain. 

Coriolanus forgot his existence again, and for some reason that to this day Sejanus cannot understand, he stupidly replied: 

"They are lethal and fake but I still think they are beautiful." 

And he withdrew, very self-conscious with himself. Ashamed, for having said it out loud. Maybe because Snow wasn't talking about the birds at all but himself. He was Dr. Gaul's new apprentice, her future heir molded to her cruel and inhuman ways. A liar, a lethal man but still beautiful. One that after all Sejanus still wanted. 

Sejanus had been pacing around his apartment like a caged animal. Time was ticking and soon an hour would have passed since Coryo's call. Horrible scenarios about his friend's fate came to his mind like waves of a raging sea. He could clearly see him coming in with a black eye and a busted lip, trembling as he collapsed in front of his door. Perhaps he had been stabbed and the blood would stick his shirt to his shapely torso before he could knock on his door. 

The thought was becoming unbearable, and Sejanus went to prepare a first aid kit urgently. He pulled out gauze, antiseptics, morphin even from his small shelf, anything to ease Coriolanus' possible pain. Then the doorbell rang and he ran to the door. 

He saw no wounds. Coriolanus was intact.

It was disappointing. 

[leviathansartstudio]

It's ya boi back at it again with some random ramblings about TSAMS

This time it's a throw back to my Ruin pieces and when Reed and Davis called my Lunar design cool, I wish to reach that peak again but it's hard when I have to combine 10 designs into one that looks more like the new design lmfao.

Also if anyone for some reason had questions about each piece: Yes I forgot to give everyone exposed wiring, Yes I started getting lazy with them and it shows, Yes the cats in Sun's piece is Comet and Bear as I didn't know Midnight existed, No I didn't have a single bit of lore planned when I made them and if I did I don't fully remember it, Yes in the background of Moon's piece there are drawings and doodles of Blood Moon, Sun, Lunar, Moon, and even Eclipse, No my New Moon design doesn't have one red and a blue eye (Old had pure red, New had pure blue, take the hint lol), and finally Yes I will be redrawing them to give them the justice they deserve because Lord all mighty they look like shit compared to my new art

Also also, Have a old sketch of the AI's so y'all can get a better look at them (I did have a plan for the newer AI but never sketched it since it's just the combination of these guys

Just realized that in the Ruin Moon piece one of the AI's is bald but in that piece I gave him a hat, God damnit

[xray-vex]

Against all odds, we found each other. And we will find each other again.

This is my entry for a Draw This In Your Style challenge on Twitter for the effort to save Our Flag Means Death.

Mine was partly inspired by Stede sending his love letters to Ed via messages in bottles, set adrift in the sea, hoping against all odds that one might reach him someday (spoiler alert, it did).

I also happened to watch this video today about the incredible, incomprehensible vastness of the universe (a lot of this info wasn't new to me, but it's fun to watch people's reactions to this stuff!), and I also started thinking about the incredible odds that we, as complex, self-aware life forms, exist at all (I think about this kind of thing all the time).

The above video references Pale Blue Dot, a really famous photo taken of earth from billions of kilometers away [*and if you look carefully you can spot it in my illustration above]:

[source]

The astronomer Carl Sagan wrote this famous & beloved passage about it (video about it below):

[source]

Just think about it! It has taken billions of years and vast amounts of energy and the right chemical reactions for us to be right here, sitting here thinking & talking about it right now. Every human being who has ever existed won a really incredible lottery.

And how does this tie into Our Flag Means Death? Among the billions of people currently alive on Earth, some of us gathered from all over the world as a community around OFMD, a profound work of art that resonates with us about our shared humanity. That's really something fucking special! We get to experience this all together.

Bonus: I included the imagery of a solar eclipse for a couple reasons. The symbols of sun & moon are repeated metaphors in OFMD associated with Ed and Stede. Also, since a total solar eclipse is an alignment between sun & moon, that seems like a perfect symbol for their relationship.

And speaking of odds, solar eclipses on Earth are pretty unique:

[source]

Edit 21 Jan 2024 - somehow I forgot to include that part of the reason I included the eclipse imagery is that there will be a total solar eclipse viewable from many parts of the US this year, on 8th April. Here are some links about it:

Road trip! See April's total solar eclipse from one of these awesome North American routes

Why 2024's Total Solar Eclipse Will Be So Special

The Science of 2024's Epic Solar Eclipse, the Last for a Generation

(tip: you can read the articles for free if you have Firefox by clicking the icon below in your search bar)

SO yeah that's my story about the design I came up with for the DTIYS Save OFMD thing, and how I've been feeling about OFMD & the fandom community, and how this entire experience for me has felt fucking miraculous.

in conclusion, Peace and Love on Planet Earth /gen

[hybridshaverisen]

WAIT. I FORGOT.

The fanart reaction videos we know takes place after this whole deal. How? Well, first, they chose art that happened during this time and thus they wouldn’t have been able to talk about it until after everything is resolved.

For example,

This JUST happened. Moon was in his own head during this time. The only time they would’ve been able to talk about this is in the “KC meets Earth” episode, and even then it was KC who was in control, not Moon.

This is another example for the same reason. Moon wouldn’t have been able to know that this was happening at the time. He even pointed out how Sun is playing it off towards the end of the video. Not to mention that these fanart canonically wouldn’t exist if this was prerecorded.

Another example.

“When did you meet them? … This is the person that handed me something.”

These sentences indicate that Moon doesn’t know this is Eclipse even though Sun “told him” (ahem, KC) when this was happening. Again, this proves that this reaction video is a flash forward, not prerecorded.

They also blatantly stated it too! “Y’know. When you blocked me.” and “How would you know that? You’ve been gone.” (Talking about how Moon acquired a bigger whacking stick). PAST TENSE! Again, they didn’t have the opportunity to talk about this when it was happening!

SO! TLDR: MOON’S ALRIGHT. Or at least will fully recover.

THEN AGAIN, THIS CHANNEL ISN’T KNOWN FOR ITS CONTINUITY OF DETAILS. -\(o3o)/-

[dalliansss]

either Mairon/Finrod: complimenting them with every single outfit change of the trip

or -(second ask)

love paradise - summer vacation scenarios for your otp

Context: takes place in this fucked up verse.

Mairon walks down the hallways and Angband trembles around him. In the úmaia's chest is a chaotic storm; just moments earlier, Melkor had given him orders to evacuate from Angband, that the fortress has been lost, and he had best now go east, as they had long planned -- east, far east, to the land of Mordor which awaits, and where the foundations of Barad-dûr already await to support further construction.

Mairon wants to stay and help fight the war, but Melkor would have none of it.

He turns to the direction of his quarters with purpose. The double-doors leading thereat open without need of physical touch; only Mairon's thoughts. The úmaia walks into the ornate but pristinely-kept room, and finds his maksima still sitting by the dresser, as if the Host of the West is not yet upon their doors, as if Angband does not tremble, in anticipation of the Wrath of the Valar.

Maksima, Finrod, his prize -- his precious -- sitting there clad in black silk, riddled with oxidized gold chains and dangling earrings, brushing his hair.

"The world is ending yet here you are, insisting to be pretty," Mairon says as he stands behind the former elf. He cards armored fingers through that platinum hair. Finrod regards him through the mirror.

"You like me pretty," Finrod states plaintively.

"I like mine creations always pretty," Mairon purrs just beside a pointed ear. "Now arise, maksima, precious. We leave Angband in all haste."

The former elf picks up a burlap satchel and dumps all his jewelry boxes in it. Jewelry -- all of which were crafted by Mairon, where the úmaia had not created jewelry in Ages.

They flee then, even before Eönwë's trumpets could be heard.

--

The first time Finrod wears Mairon's armor, the úmaia purrs so loudly the very room vibrates. Black has always been Finrod's color, and how he owned that color as the years rolled by, as he sank deeper and deeper into the tar-pit Mairon dropped him in, kicking and screaming, all his spittle about righteous anger and needless cruelty forgot and ground into the dust, drowned in the mire of blood that ever sustains his unnatural existence.

Mairon stands from his throne-like chair, and he closes the distance between them, crushing their lips together and blood seeps between, dark, scarlet blood mingled with Ainu copper.

His own. His precious.

"As beautiful as the world under an eclipse," Mairon snarls lowly against those lips. "Beautiful," he repeats, and he digs his talons into Finrod's nape, forcing him to tip his head back, to offer his pearl neck, where Mairon sinks his teeth.

--

The ship creaks around them, and Mairon nervously holds Finrod upon his lap. He hates the sea; always has. It was not Melkor who has hated and loathed the sea; it had been Mairon. The elven loremasters could never get their own lore right. Melkor would swim in the Sea and face Ulmo unafraid, while Mairon...Mairon would never.

He runs his hand through Finrod's platinum hair. Snarls. They are bound for Númenor, and he has seen how that dúnadan Ar-Pharazôn had eyed his maksima.

Mairon's fingers twist the fabric of Finrod's clothing, but then he hesitates and does not tear asunder the seemingly-fragile cloth.

"Stay close to me, once we dock in that accursed land," Mairon snarls, the words in Black Speech pressed against Finrod's bare shoulder. "I will not let this scum touch thee. Do you understand?"

"On the contrary," says Finrod. "I would let him touch me, and when he least expects it, I shall bite him and turn him into my thrall."

"You will do no such thing," Mairon says. "Not yet. Yet I shall give you the dúnadan once our plans come to fruition. You will tear him limb from limb for me."

Around them, the ship creaks again.

"When we get to Númenor," Mairon continues. "Choose plain clothing, once it shall be given. Leave all ornamentations to me. You will be as plain as dirt, if need be."

Finrod gives a disdainful snort. "Me, plain?"

"Do this for me, precious. I will not let that scum touch you. Do you understand me?"

Their bond lashes with hurt that makes Finrod flinch.

"You have very strange ways to say I am pretty. But very well. If you insist."

@skaelds

[alovelyburn]

Correct me if I'm wrong. In order for Godhand to form in the form in which it exists now, 5 Eclipses had to occur. 5 new angels: Void, Ubik, Konrad, Slan and Femto, with Void appearing after the fall of Gaiseric's empire, approximately 1000 years ago. Between 5 Eclipses 4 time intervals of 216 years. It turns out that 216 * 4 = 864 years should have passed from Void to Femto. But it is said that about 1000 years have passed (and the empire fell 1000 years ago). We add another interval of 216 years and get 1080 years. But then, it turns out, since the showdown between Void and Gaiseric, 5 time intervals between 6 Eclipses should have passed? I hope I expressed myself clearly. Thank you in advance! <3

You have expressed yourself perfectly, and I have wondered about that. My general assumption, if I'm being honest, is that Miura just multiplied 216 by 5, and got "1000ish years" because he forgot to count Femto as 0 instead of 216.

Before you accuse me of copping out there, I have reasons but also alternate thoughts.

So, reasons I think this is fairly likely to be a math error:

Gaiseric's era was specifically set at 1000 years ago.

There definitely are five Godhand: there's one per finger explicitly, there are only four Godhand when Void ascends, and there are only three between him and Griffith, and Griffith is repeatedly referred to as the fifth angel, the fifth godhand, etc.

And the prophecy about the lake of blood specifically says it appears when the sun dies five times, ergo Femto is the fifth Godhand to rise. You could speculate that it was written after Void's Eclipse, which is possible but it does seem evident that it's meant to reference the five Godhand that we know, otherwise it may as well have said four or eight - we know there are at least 9 that have existed, after all.

Basically, there's just no evidence that there's ever been a Godhand post-Void other than the four we have, and at this point in the story it would be a bit of an asspull to suddenly drop a secret sixth on us. It also destroys the hand theme and all the references to five five five.

If it isn't just a math error:

There would need to be a sixth Godhand, which seems unlikely because see above. OR

They would need to have skipped a cycle. OR

There would need to have been another Godhand at some point who, I don't know, died or something?

The skip cycle is possible? The main thing I can think of that might account for an extra 216 without a new Godhand would be if someone turned the deal down... but I tend to think that there would be less expressed certainty around destiny if that were the case. It would also mean there had been six eclipses instead of five, unless the person died before the Eclipse happened - possible.

The third might be the most likely, and I can think of a scenario where that would make sense, BUT... the counting Eclipses thing would come up again. I also feel like it would have come up by now, or at least it would have been hinted at by now.

The one scenario I can think of offhand that would make sense is if one of them had been killed by, say, Skull Knight and Flora. This would explain why Griffith felt the need to have Flora killed, and could also explain some of the cryptic dialogue around Flora in general and perhaps help explain why Skull Knight is STILL AT IT - if he knows it can be done, then he won't give up on doing it again.

tl;dr: I usually assume it's a math error but now I've half talked myself into thinking another Godhand either died while still a candidate or was killed by an alliance of Skull Knight and Flora, so who knows. The counting Eclipses thing still sticks on me, though.

Where the whole cycle theory from yesterday is concerned, though, it doesn't make much of a difference - I'd just have to adjust from "the reincarnated Godhand is the fifth" to "the reincarnated one could be any of them depending on what IoE is trying to accomplish." The overall point remains... especially the part about the last one being Void since Miura did specifically place Gaiseric's era at the right time for that.